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FOR 


BOYD’S RHETORIC 


COMMON SCHOOLS AND ACADEMIES. 


The following testimonials relating to the merits of 
the “ Elements of Rhetoric and Literary Criti¬ 
cism,” by J. R. Boyd, A.M., Principal of Black River 
L. and R. Institute, are from gentlemen long engaged 
in the business of instruction, or occupied in superin¬ 
tending the management of schools, and may there¬ 
fore be relied upon as worthy of confidence. 


The following notice is from T. Romeyn Beck, LL.D., Principal of the 
Albany Academy, and from Prof. P. Bullions, D.D., connected with the 
same institution. 

Albany, July 31, 1844. 

The Rev. James R. Boyd, Principal of the Literary and Scientific In¬ 
stitute at Watertown, Jefferson county, has now for several years conduct¬ 
ed that institution with ability and success. He has necessarily become 
acquainted with the numerous text-books in use, and it has occurred to him 
that an improvement might be made on those in common use for instruct¬ 
ing in English Composition and Rhetoric. He has prepared a work from 
those of Reid and Connel, with numerous emendations and additions from 
his own pen, and we have no doubt, from a general examination of its con¬ 
tents, that it is deserving of publication, and that its introduction will 
prove useful both in academies and common schools. 

(Signed) T. Romeyn Beck, 

P. Bullions. 

Communication from S. S. Randall, Esq., Deputy Superintendent of 
Common Schools of the State of New-York. 

Secretary's Office, Department of Common Schools, 

Albany, August 2, 1844. 

Having examined the manuscript sheets of the Rev. Mr. Boyd’s proposed 
publication on the “ Elements of Rhetoric and Literary Criticism,” I am 
free to express the high gratification it has afforded me, not only as a work 
admirably adapted to the purpose for which it seems specially to have been 
designed, a text-book in rhetoric for the use of our common schools, but 
also as a valuable and tasteful compilation of specimens of the great masters 
both in prose and poetry, at home and abroad. As a text-book in our ele¬ 
mentary as well as higher institutions of public instruction, it is, in my 
iudgment, unsurpassed by any of its predecessors ; indeed, I am not aware 
of the existence of any elementary work upon the same plan ; and I shall 
regard its publication at this time as a valuable contribution to the cause 
of popular education, no less than to the interests of a sound literary taste 
(Signed) S. S. Randall, Dept. Supt. Com. Schools 




4 


RECOMMENDATIONS, 


Extracts from a communication by P. Montgomery, Esq., County Su 
perintendent of Common Schools for Southern Section of Jefferson. 

Adams, July 27, 1844. 

For a long time I have noticed with regret the almost entire neglect of 
the art of original composition in our common schools, and the want of a 
proper text-book upon this essential branch of education. 

Hundreds graduate from our common schools with no well-defined ideas 
of the construction of our language. I have just arisen from an examina¬ 
tion of a work prepared by Mr. Boyd, Principal of the Black River L. and 
R. Institute. We are happy to find that a gentleman of Mr. Boyd’s char¬ 
acter as a scholar and experience in teaching has taken this unoccupied 
field, and has succeeded in preparing a work to meet the wants of our 
schools. This work must take the field without competition. It leads the 
pupil gradually from the incipient steps in original composition up to a nat¬ 
ural and easy expression of thought in all the varied style of which our 
language is capable. It may be used as a spelling, reading, and parsing 
book ; it is what our common schools need. We cheerfully commend the 
work to the confidence and patronage of the friends of education. 

(Signed) P. Montgomery, 

County Supt. Com. Schools, Southern Section, Jefferson. 

From Professor Edward North, of Hamilton College. 

Hamilton College, Nov. 27, 1844. 

Mr. Boyd’s “ Treatise on Rhetoric and Literary Criticism” is intended 
to supply a want which has long been felt by those having charge of com¬ 
mon schools and academies. The author has brought to his task a full 
knowledge of what was needed in this department, as well as an unusual 
amount of experience and practical skill in the processes of elementary in¬ 
struction. The valuable results of his labors will be welcomed by all who 
have at heart the improvement of our common schools and academies. 

(Signed) Edward North. 

From the Biblical Repository and Classical Review, January, 1845. 

We have been much pleased with a cursory inspection of this little vol¬ 
ume. It seems to us to meet a want which has been felt in the common 
schools and higher schools of both sexes. It is eminently practical in its 
method, illustrating every principle by an abundance of examples, and 
taking the juvenile scholar, as soon as he begins to write at all, and teach¬ 
ing him, in the best way, how to think, speak, and compose correctly. 

It is a text-book, “ compiled and arranged” by the author with great 
judgment and practical tact. 

From the New-York Evangelist, Nov. 21, 1844. 

Though brief and concise, this is a very complete and comprehensive 
work. It is designed for schools, and begins with the elementary princi¬ 
ples of language and composition. It surveys the whole field of Rhetoric 
and is sound in the principles it advances, and judicious and skillful in their 
application. 

For the ordinary uses of education, we think it not only safe and excel¬ 
lent, but by far the clearest, most reasonable, and comprehensive work oj 
the kind in market. The examples by which the several positions are sus¬ 
tained are chosen with genuine taste, and there are evidences pn almost 
every page that the author is a full and well-read scholar. 

We trust that it will be made a text-book of this greatly needed but 
much neglected study. 


RECOMMENDATIONS 


5 


From the New-York Baptist Register, Nov. 22, 1844. 

This is one of the most valuable school boohs we have had put into our 
nands in many a day. It is from the press of the Harpers, from which 
many important works are issued, but rarely have they published one of 
equal advantage to the rising generation. 

The object of the author is to train the young mind to think. Every chap¬ 
ter shows this, and requires thorough study to be advantageously mastered, 
nut when acquired, it will be seen that the pupil has made substantial 
progress. We believe, with the author, that there is a great mistake in 
devoting so much attention to reading and speaking, and so small a portion 
of time in teaching the art of correctly writing the language. 

From the Roman Citizen, Dec. 3, 1844. 

This valuable treatise has been compiled under the pressure of an evil 
which has hitherto greatly impaired the completeness of the usual course 
of instruction in our common schools and academies. Hitherto there has 
been no elementary work in use , of the right stamp, on the science and history 
of the English language and literature ; and the youth of our elementary 
schools have been left, in quite too many cases, to grow up without any 
true and available knowledge of the correct use of their mother tongue. 

Mr. Boyd, who has for many years had charge of one of the best acad¬ 
emies in this state, perceived the sad effects of this deficiency, and has had 
the skill to work out a remedy. Commencing with the rudiments of lan¬ 
guage, his plan is, to lead the pupil on from one step to a higher, and to 
furnish him with familiar illustrations of every principle inculcated, until 
he has so mastered the rules of the most elevated composition. 

★ ★ *★*★*★♦ 

We hope to see Mr. Boyd’s treatise generally used in our common schools 
and academies. 

From the Oswego Daily Advertiser, May 2, 1845. 

Mr. Editor : 

During the session of the Teacher’s Association in Oswego, I took occa¬ 
sion to speak before them in behalf of Rev. Mr. Boyd’s work on Rhetoric 
and Literary Criticism. They unanimously passed a resolution expressive 
of the opinion that the science and art of communicating thoughts on paper 
should be taught in our common schools. Indeed, if it be not, many pass 
through life without the ability even of writing a letter correctly, much 
less elegantly ; and that, too, for the plain reason, that comparatively few 
have an opportunity to attend the higher institutions of learning. 

Mr. Boyd’s motto in preparing his book must have been multum in parvo, 
for it comprises much valuable matter in a small space ; in other words, it 
conceritrate^fthe lights of many highly gifted minds upon the subject of 
which it treats. I have never seen a book which, in my judgment, is so 
well adapted to the great purposes of teaching composition and rhetoric in 
schools of every grade, as this new and most excellent publication. I have 
no possible pecuniary interest in the sale of the work, but my decided con¬ 
viction of its merits prompts me to recommend it to the examination of 
teachers, parents, and all who feel an interest in promoting the noble and 
blessed career of popular education. Samuel N. Sweet, 

Author of “ Sweet's Elocution .” 

From the Jeffersonian, Nov. 26, 1844. 

We have devoted no inconsiderable space to a critical notice of “ Boyd’s 
Rhetoric,” and we wish that we could convince our readers that the sub- 


6 


RECOMMENDATIONS. 


ject is deserving of the space and the attention bestowed upon it. It should 
be in the hands of every student and every man who writes for the press or 
for public speaking. It is, indeed, a guide to the pens of all who wander 
in doubt, hesitating, seeking the right way, but uncertain as to the land¬ 
marks. It will make easy and smooth what at first view appears dry and 
forbidding. 

The following is an extract from the critical notice above referred to : 

One reason, and probably the chief one, why the study of rhetoric has 
received so little attention in our common schools is, that there has been 
no suitable text-book. Blair, Newman, Jameson, and others have long been 
in use in our higher academies and colleges, but they are intended for ad¬ 
vanced scholars, and hence are not adapted to our common schools. Frost’s 
and Parker’s Exercises have been used to a certain extent, but we have 
seen no work which so completely meets the want as the one noticed at 
the head of this article. In this, both the style and matter are calculated 
to interest, instruct, and inform the young, as well as the advanced scholar 
and general reader. 

The arrangement is admirable , commencing with the simplest principles, 
and leading the scholar along gradually to the higher and most important. 
**★★★**★* 

We commend the book most cordially to teachers of common schools and 
academies, to all interested in the progress of the cause of education, and 
to contributors to the newspaper press. 

From the Albany Daily Advertiser, Nov. 8, 1844. 

Boyd’s Rhetoric. —This work is fitted to take the science of Rhetonc 
out of its place among the drier branches of education, and to invest it with 
no small degree of attraction. It begins with the very alphabet of the sci¬ 
ence, and is so perfectly simple that quite a young child may be put to the 
study of it with advantage. At the same time, it is a very complete view 
of the subject, and contains much that is not found in any similar treatise. 

The work has already received the warm approbation of some of our best 
judges, and we can not doubt that it is destined to take a high place among 
kindred works, and to bring to its author the grateful acknowledgments, 
not only of teachers, but of all who are interested in the great and good 
cause of education. 

From the Albany Religious Spectator, Nov. 9, 1844. 

This work meets an important desideratum in the economy of education. 
Its plan is, so far as we know, entirely new, the arrangement perfectly sys¬ 
tematic, and the execution characterized throughout by good taste and good 
judgment. 

It is published under the most favorable auspices, bearinf, as it does, 
the high recommendation of many who are best qualified to judge, and 
whose opinions on such subjects are regarded as authority. Mr. Boyd has 
not only done himself great credit, but has conferred a favor upon his gen¬ 
eration, and, we doubt not, upon posterity also, by sending forth his judi¬ 
cious and excellent work. 

Extract from a Review of the work in the Biblical Repertory and Princeton 
Review , Oct., 1845. 

This little work has two great merits: one is, its tendency to promote and 
facilitate the early practice of English composition ; the other is, a great 
variety, of information as to books and authors, and the language itself, 
which it brings within the reach of ordinary teachers and their pupils. Its 


RECOMMENDATIONS. 7 

* 

faults arise almost entirely from its being, as the title-page avows, a com¬ 
pilation. * * * * * * , * * 

As usual, our statement of particular defects fills much more space than 
our general commendation, which we think it proper, therefore, to repeat, 
t>y stating it as our opinion, that the adoption of this little manual in 
schools, and even in the lower classes of our colleges, would, under the 
direction of judicious teachers, tend to great improvement in the art of com¬ 
position, and to the diffusion of much useful information as to English lit¬ 
erature. Mr. Boyd has evidently taken special pains to make the literary 
merits of the Bible, and the literature of our own country, duly prominent 
in his compilation, although chiefly drawn from British sources. 

Similar notices and recommendations have appeare-d in the Albany Argua, 
Albany Evening Journal, Black River Journal, and other periodicals. 


BOYD’S ECLECTIC MORAL PHILOSOPHY, 


This work, prepared /or schools by the author of the 
“ Rhetoric,” professes to teach the Science of Human Duty 
in a lucid and thorough manner; and also to unfold the 
moral structure, capacities, and active principles of man. 
To youth nothing is of greater importance than a knowledge 
of their moral and active powers, and an acquaintance with 
the proper method of employing them in the performance 
of the various duties of life. Should not some text-book on 
this subject be constantly employed in every academy and 
district school? Must not the education of our youth be 
extremely imperfect without it? Whether the “Eclectic 
Moral Philosophy ,” when the character of its contents, its 
moderate price, and handsome style of publication are con¬ 
sidered, is entitled to a preference over other w r orks on the 
same subject, is submitted to the judgment of instructors, 
upon an examination and trial of the w*ork. The science 
of Moral Philosophy, in this day of educational improve¬ 
ment, should not be undervalued and neglected as it has 
ever been. It should take rank, as a matter of course, with 
Natural Philosophy, Chemistry, and Mathematics. 

The work has an advantage which no other of the kind can possess, of 
suggesting to the pupil the works and authors where the various topics are 
more extensively treated. It is, in fact, an excellent guide-book for an ex¬ 
ploration of the wide and tangled field of moral science.— Bib. Repository. 

We commend this comprehensive volume, as one of great utility, to all 
teachers and students especially, also the private reader, as an admirable 
epitomized system of moral philosophy.— American Review. 

This is an excellent book. Mr. Boyd has, in our judgment, succeeded in 
presenting “ the science of human actions” with such steady reference to 
the only true sources of that science as will commend the book warmly to 
all the best friends of popular education. The work is strictly a compila¬ 
tion, and the merit of the compiler, which is gTeat, consists in the taste 
and judgment which he has every where shown in the effort to make it 
not merely a profound, but a really practical treatise.— Teacher's Advocate 

It is better adapted to the wants of learners than any manual of the kind 
we have seen.— Princeton Biblical Repertory. 



ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC 


AND 


LITERARY CRITICISM. 


WITH COPIOUS 

PRACTICAL EXERCISES AND EXAMPLES. 


FOR THE 

USE OF COMMON SCHOOLS AND ACADEMIES. 


COMPILED AND ARRANGED 

ml 


/' 

BY Jf R/BOYD, A.M. 

PRINCIPAL OF JEFFERSON COUNTY INSTITUTE. 


SIXTH EDITION. 

N E W-Y ORK: 

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 
82 CLIFF STREET. 

18 48 . 

Cz 









Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1844, by 
Harper & Brothers, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the Southern District of New-Yoirk. 




PREFACE 

TO THE FIFTH EDITION. 


In preparing this edition for the press, the 
compiler has sought to render his work more 
complete by adding Part VIII., supplementary 
to what appeared in the former editions, and 
particularly adapted to the wants of the more 
advanced students in common schools or acad¬ 
emies. It will be found to embrace some of the 
more important and practical instructions found 
in works on Logic, and which properly belong 
to a complete treatise on the Art of Composition. 

The whole work has been carefully revised, 
but it was found necessary to make only a very 
few alterations, and those so slight, chiefly cor¬ 
rections of typographical errors, that no incon¬ 
venience will be experienced in using this edi¬ 
tion with any of the former. 

The compiler would take the liberty to add, 
that after a trial of one year in the institution 
under his care, during which several classes, 
in the different departments, have been carried 
through the work, it has been found peculiar- # 
ly well adapted to the important objects for 

A 



iv 


PREFACE. 


which it was compiled. He believes it is not too 
much to say, that it not only embraces, but pre¬ 
sents in a more convenient method and form, the 
best portions, at least the most useful, of the 
works of Blair, Whateley, Beattie, Campbell, and 
Watts, while it comprehends, besides, the Practi¬ 
cal Exercises, the History of the English Lan¬ 
guage and Literature, and the selections from 
British and American Poets, with critical notices, 
which did not enter into the plan of any of the 
above works. 

As now enlarged, the work will, it is hoped, 
be deemed worthy of a general introduction into 
academies, while it has not thereby lost, in any 
degree, its adaptedness to the wants of common 
schools, especially in the improved condition to 
which they are advancing from year to year. 

Watertown, January 2, 1846. 


CONTENTS 


Preliminary Observations 


Pag* 

. IX 


PART I. 


I. Spelling. 

Sect. I. Capital Letters. 

II. Spelling, how best learned . . . 

II. Punctuation. 

Remarks on its Importance and Necessity . 

III. Use of Words. 


. . . 17 
. . . 19 

. 19 


Sect. I. Elliptical Sentences.. . 22 

II. Words to form Sentences.23 

III. Words to form Sentences ( continued ).24 

IV. Derivative Words. . . 24 

V. Variety of Expression.25 

VI. Variety of Expression {continued) .25 

VII. Words suggested to form Sentences.26 


IV. Structure of Sentences. 


Sect. I. Variety of Construction. 

II. Simple Sentences. 

III. Abridgment of Complex Sentences 

IV. Abridgment of Complex Sentences ( continued) 

V. Variety of Structure. 

VI. Variety of Structure and Expression 

VII. Complex Sentences. 

VIII. Ideas suggested to form Sentences 


27 

27 

28 
29 

29 

30 

30 

31 


V. Arrangement of Sentences 


Sect. I. Variety of Arrangement . 

II. Variety of Arrangement ( continued ) 

III. Variety of Arrangement ( continued) 

IV. Expression of Ideas 

V. Expression of Ideas {continued) » 

VI. Expression of Ideas ( continued) . 
VU. Expression of Ideas ( continued) 


34 

34 

35 

35 

36 
36 
36 


PART II. 

I. Style.— II. Figurative Language. 

PRELIMINARY CHAPTERS. 

Chap. I. Of Language, and its Origin.37 

II. Alphabetic Writing.38 

III. Materials Anciently used in Writing . . . . .39 

IV. Scarcity of Books in former Times . 40 

A 2 
















/ 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Chap. V. Composition. • 

VI. Genius . .. 

VII. Taste . . . . . • 

VIII. Sect. I. Beauty and Sublimity in Nature . 

II. Beautiful and Sublime in Writing 

I. Style. 

IX. Of Style and Idiom. 

X. Of different Kinds of Style. 

XI. Perspicuity. 

XII. Purity. 

XIII. Propriety. 

XIV. Precision. 

XV. Perspicuity in the Structure of Sentenoes . 

XVI. Of Clearness . .. 

XVII. Of Unity. 

XVIII. Of Strength. 

XIX. Of Harmony 

XX. Of Sound united to the Sense . . ... 

XXI. Choice of Words with a View to Energy and Vivacity 

XXII. Critical Examination of Sentences .... 

II. Of Figurative Language. 


Pape 

41 

42 

43 
46 
50 


51 

52 

53 

54 
56 
59 
61 
62 
65 
68 
71 
74 

76 

77 


XXIII. Of Figurative Language ....... 78 

XXIV. Of Simile.80 

XXV. Of Metaphor . 82 

XXVI. Of Allegory.... . . 86 

XXVII. Of Personification ..88 

XXVIII. Of Apostrophe ........ 90 

XXIX. Of Metonymy and Synecdoche.92 

XXX. Of Climax and Enumeration ...... 93 

XXXI. Of Antithesis.95 

XXXII. Of Hyperbole and Irony.97 

XXXIII. Of Interrogation and Exclamation.100 

XXXIV. Of Vision and Alliteration.101 

XXXV. Of additional Secondary Tropes.102 

XXXVI. Of Miscellaneous Figures of Speech ..... 104 

XXXVII. Of Allusions. 105 

XXXVIII. Of Wit.108 

XXXIX. Critical Examination of Passages containing Figurative 

Language.Ill 

XL. Of the more General Rules for Composition . . Ill 


PART III. 

Of the different Kinds of Composition. 


General Statements.113 

Chap. I. Of Letters.114 

Sect. I. On Letter-writing.114 

II. Letter-writing ( continued) ..... 117 

III. Specimens of Letter-writing.120 

II. Of Dialogue and Enigmas . ..129 

III. Of History.130 

IV. Essays and Philosophy.133 

V, Sect. I. Orations.134 


II. Criticisms on Everett, Webster, Calhoun, and Clay 136 






































CONTENTS. 


V 


Ch. VI. Of Novels . ... 

VII. Of Blank Verse and Rhyme . ... 

VIII. Of the Structure of Verse . . .... 146 

IX. Of Varieties of Verse.. 

X. Of Poetic Pauses. .150 

XI. Of Pastoral and Descriptive Poetry ..... 152 

XII. Of Didactic and Lyric Poetry.153 

Sect. II. Examples of English Lyrics.155 

XIII. Of Epic Poetry.158 

XIV. Of Dramatic Poetry ........ 159 

XV. Of Hymns, Elegy, &c. ........ 161 

XVI. Of the Sonnet ..163 

XVII. The Literary Merit and Style of the English Bible . .165 

XVIII. The Form of Bible Poetry ....... 168 


PART IV. 

Of Original Composition. 


Chap. I. Selection of proper Subjects ....... 172 

II. Narrative Essays ......... 174 

III. Descriptive Essays ........ 175 

IV. Descriptive Essays ( continued) ...... 175 

V. Miscellaneous Essays ........ 176 

VI. Miscellaneous Essays ( continued ).177 


PART Y. 


History of the English Language. 


Chap. I. Of different Languages.180 

II. Of the Primitive Languages of Europe.181 

III. Of the English Language.182 

IV. Of the early History of the English Language . . . 184 

V. The Effect on it of the Saxon Conquest . . • / • 

VI. The Effect on it of the Danish Conquest .... 187 

VII. The Effect on it of the Norman Conquest .... 188 

VIII. Of the Modern History of our Language .... 190 

IX. The same Subject continued. . 191 

X. Of Periodical Literature.193 

XI The component Parts of the English Language . . . 194 


PART VI. 


Modern British Literature. 

Chap. I. English Literature under the Tudors and the first Stuarts . 197 

II. English Literature from the Restoration to the Reign of 

George III.198 

III. English Literature of the present Age.199 

IV. English Novels and Romances ...... 202 

V. The English Periodical Press.203 

VI. English Philosophers and Critics of the present Century . 204 

British Poets. , 


Criticisms and Specimens. 

VII Sect. 1. Shakspeare . . . . 

II. Milton. 
























VI 


CONTENTS, 


Page 

Ctt VII, Sec. Ill Samuel Butler, Author of Hudibras . . .219 

IV Young.220 

V. Dr. Samuel Johnson, his Criticism on Milton . 222 

VL Alexander Pope.223 

VII Thomas Gray. 227 

VIII. James Beattie . . • . • • 229 

IX. Thomson. . 230 

X. Cowper.232 

XI. Oliver Goldsmith.236 

XII. George Crabbe.237 

XIII. Samuel Rogers.237 

XIV. Thomas Campbell.239 

XV. Mark Akenside.241 

XVI. Samuel T. Coleridge.242 

XVII. Robert Southey ....... 245 

XVIII. James Montgomery ...... 248 

XIX. Lord Byron ... .... 250 

XX. Robert Pollok.253 

XXI. Mrs. F. D. Hemans.255 

XXII. Henry Kirke White.257 

XXIII. William Wordsworth.259 

XXIV. Thomas Moore.265 

XXV. Robert Burns ..266 

XXVI. Sir Walter Scott.269 

PART VII. 

American Literature. 

American Poets. 

Chap. I. Sect. I. Poets of our Revolutionary Period .... 276 

II. James K. Paulding. • ... • • • 278 

John Pierpont.278 

III. Richard H. Dana.280 

James A. Hillhouse.281 

IV. Charles Sprague ....... 282 

Charles Wilcox.283 

V. William C. Bryant.283 

Fitz-Greene Halleck .... . 285 

VI. N. P. Willis.286 

Mrs. L H. Sigourney.288 

VII. Hannah F. Gould.290 

Lucretia and Margaret Davidson . . . .291 

James G. Percival. 291 

VIII. J. G. C. Brainard.292 

H. W. Longfellow.293 

IX. John G. Whittier.294 

X. A. B. Street. . . 295 

XI. E. W. B. Canning.296 

XII. Concluding Remarks on American Poets . . 299 

II. SECT. I. Sketch of American Literature since 1815 “. . 300 

II. The present State of American Literature, and its 

Relation to that of England. .... 302 

III. Concluding Remarks upon our National Literature 305 













CONTENTS 


• • 

Vll 

PART VIII. 

Supplementary. 

Pa*e 

Chap. I Divine Origin of Language.307 

II. Critical Examination of the Style of Addison . . .308 

III. Critical Notes upon a portion of Paradise Lost . . . 313 

IV. Definitions and Descriptions.317 

V. Introduction to a Discourse.319 

VI. Of the Division of a Subject—Rules ..... 321 

VII. Of the Argumentative Part of a Discourse .... 322 

VIII. Rules for an Address to the Passions.324 

IX. Conclusion of a Discourse.327 

X. General Rules and Hints to direct our Reasoning . . 327 

XI. Rules of Method in the Pursuit and Communication of 

Knowledge.329 

XII. Defects of Dr. Johnson’s Style of Writing . . . .331 






























♦ 











\ 















PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS 


THE OCCASION FOR THIS WORK. 

Long experience in teaching has convinced the compiler that 
none of the numerous works known to him on the subject of 
Rhetoric and Composition are sufficiently adapted to a large 
class of scholars, in academies and common schools, that need, 
and are susceptible of, instruction in this important branch of 
knowledge. He has been compelled, therefore, by a regard to 
the interests of the young, and to the interests of the community, 
to undertake the compilation of a work from the best sources, 
which, being the result of long experience, may not only aid 
teachers and scholars in this branch of education, but may render 
the pursuit of it more agreeable than any other treatise within 
his knowledge. One great objection to almost every treatise hith 
erto furnished to schools, is their dry, uninteresting, and even re¬ 
pulsive character in the view of the young; which, added to the 
dislike to efforts in composition which the young generally enter 
tain, render those works of comparatively little service. 

THE IMPORTANCE OF THIS BRANCH OF EDUCATION BEING MORE 

EXTENSIVELY AND THOROUGHLY TAUGHT IN ACADEMIES AND 

COMMON SCHOOLS. 

The compiler of the preseflt work begs leave to express his 
conviction that the labors of teachers in all our schools are di¬ 
rected too exclusively to the securing of correct habits in speak¬ 
ing and reading the language; and that altogether too limited an 
amount of time and share of attention are employed in teaching the art of 
correctly writing the language. He believes that during several 
years of attendance at school, the time of the pupil could not be 
more profitably employed, during an hour or a half hour of each 
day, than in transcribing from books, or in composing, until the 
art is acquired of correctly committing to paper what may be 
heard or thought. To do this, implies a practical and thorough 
knowledge of orthography, punctuation, and proper use of capital 
letters, in addition to a knowledge of grammatical and rhetorical 
principles. 

When we consider how many, who have enjoyed the advan¬ 
tages of common and‘even of academic schools, are unable to 
write down their own thoughts or the speeches of other persons; 
how much occasion every one has in life for the ability to com¬ 
municate or preserve his thoughts by writing; when we consider 
how many persons of strong powers of reflection make no record 
of their valuable thoughts because they were not educated to the 
practice of it at school; when we consider, also, how difficult 
and protracted the process must be of learning to reduce our 



X 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


thougnts to a written form with grammatical and rhetorical ac 
curacy; when we reflect upon the pleasures, as well as the nu¬ 
merous advantages, of readiness and excellence in the art of com 
posing, is it not important to secure the attention, and the vigor 
ous action, both of teachers and of parents, to this long-neglect 
ed branch of education ? and is it not desirable that works shall 
be used on the subject that shall be best fitted to secure the im¬ 
portant end in view ? Is it not desirable that the young should 
be trained, under competent instructers, to think and to write out 
their thoughts as readily as to speak their thoughts ? 

Besides, is there a more effectual method of securing closeness, 
connection, accuracy, and completeness in habits of thought, than 
to habituate ourselves to write upon the subject of investigation ? 
Is there any better mode of guarding ourselves against vagueness 
and obscurity in the language we habitually employ ? How often 
do we suppose ourselves well versed in a subject until we attempt 
to write upon it ? Our own muddiness of mind, or that of others, 
is discovered not so readily by speech as by writirig. 

The habit of writing much with accuracy would greatly aid us, 
also, in speaking the language with accuracy and elegance—a 
very great, but not common accomplishment. When about to 
speak, we should then be likely to inquire of ourselves how we 
would express on paper the ideas we are about to communicate. 
Many things that appear tolerably well when addressed to the 
ear, can not escape condemnation, perhaps ridicule, when submit¬ 
ted to the eye. The writing, then, of the English language, and 
composing in it, should form as regular a part of the daily exercises of 
every school as that of reading the language. It has more to do with 
intellectual discipline, with giving vigor to all the powers of the 
youthful mind. Even the humble business of copying accurately 
from a book, from reaching books, geographies, grammars, or any 
other text-book, is a suitable exercise, until it can be done with 
exactness in every particular. Why is it that those who are ac¬ 
customed to set type in a printing-office not only spell well, but 
so generally learn to compose well, but that they have thus em¬ 
ployed themselves in copying the language of those who compose 
well? 

If one hour, therefore, of each day were devoted to the writing 
of our language, either in copying pages of scientific and literary 
works, or, afterward, in giving a written form to the scholar’s 
own thoughts, observations, and recollections, there would be 
gained so much of mental discipline, such a habit of mental ap¬ 
plication and exactness, as would facilitate his progress in all his 
other studies. While, in relation to the latter, there would, there¬ 
fore, be no loss sustained by the time thus directly withdrawn 
from them, there would be acquired the great positive gain of in¬ 
creased mental discrimination and power, besides a most valu¬ 
able readiness in turning to a useful account the daily results of 
the scholar’s reading, observation, and experience. 

Do we not need, then, in this respect, a radical change in 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


XI 


all odr schools, and should not teachers be expected and re¬ 
quired to instruct all their scholars of a suitable age, from eight 
years upward, in the manner referred to, at least one hour of each 
day ? and should not instructers qualify themselves to carry out 
the above system in a thorough and efficient manner ? Should 
not those be refused employment who are not competent to pro¬ 
mote such an object successfully ? In respect to the precise age 
when such a course may be advantageously commenced, it may 
be entered upon as soon as the scholar is able to write a legible 
hand, and should be continued until the art of composing well 
has been matured, and is acquired as perfectly as the art of speak¬ 
ing the language well. 

OBJECTS AND PLAN OF THIS WORK. 

Its object is to train the young mind to think, and to be able to 
give a perspicuous, forcible, and elegant expression to thought in 
a written form. It is designed, also, to cultivate the taste, the 
judgment, the imagination; to exhibit not only the rules, but co¬ 
pious examples of conformity to those rules, in the study of 
which the scholar may learn to criticise the literary efforts of 
others as well as his own. It combines, also, what is conceived 
important to the awakening of a literary spirit in our youth, a 
succinct but satisfactory history of our excellent mother-tongue, 
also of the classes of writings which have been composed in it, 
and of their progress toward perfection. For the same purpose, 
it imbodies biographical and critical notices of the most distin¬ 
guished poets of Great Britain and of the United States, illustra¬ 
ted by a carefully-prepared selection from their works, the daily 
study of which for a few weeks must produce important and ben¬ 
eficial results in a course of education. Notices are also given 
of other classes of writers, of orators, of historians, and philoso¬ 
phers. Critical remarks are made upon their merits and defects 
—their prominent peculiarities. A brief history is given of Amer¬ 
ican literature from the early settlement of the United States to 
the present time—a portion of the work that should give it favor 
with the patriot teacher and scholar. The characteristics of Eng¬ 
lish and American literature are set forth, and estimates are pro¬ 
duced of the comparative merits of each. It is believed that 
such sketches and specimens will do more to awaken that literary 
spirit which gives birth to excellence and vigor in composition 
than any other plan that has been adopted. The philosophy of 
rhetoric will thus be acquired with little effort, and in such a 
manner as to be agreeable to every mind. 

The work contains-copious practical exercises, from the most 
simple, progressively to the most difficul ; and yet it is believed 
that no exercises are introduced which hrom their difficulty, can 
not and will not be used, as is too muoi the case with books on 
composition. The character of thes^ exercises will, in part, be 
seen by a reference merely to the taV « of contents. 

In the compilation, the author hfc' r.ad reference to the wants 


Xll 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


of Common Schools as well as of academies, and has rendered 
•t of a character suitable to the middle and older classes of the 
former, as well as to students in the latter. He is persuaded that 
no work is more needed than one of this kind. Large portions 
of it may be used for reading or parsing lessons. 

In his selections he has been guided by a regard to the moral 
as well as literary culture of the youthful mind. He has also 
drawn largely from distinguished American authors, many of 
whom will bear an honorable comparison with the best writers 
jf the parent country. 

SOURCES WHENCE THI6 WORK HAS BEEN DRAWN. 

The author lays no claim, in this work, to an original produc¬ 
tion. It is merely a compilation; yet he claims to have derived 
it from the best and most recent sources—to nave embraced in 
nis plan a more comprehensive course ot instruction than wilj be 
found in other works on rhetoric—to have used, in its preparation, 
the labors of such authors as are worthy of the highest confi¬ 
dence, and to have employed great care and diligence in the ar¬ 
rangement and mutual adaptation of the materials he has thrown 
together. He offers it, therefore, to the literary public with more 
confidence than he would dare to entertain in reference to an 
original production of his own. He hopes, on tl^p same ground, 
for its adoption and use, extensively, m the common schools and 
academies of our state 

The basis of the work consists of Connel’s Catechism of Com¬ 
position, entire, and of portions of Reid’s Rudiments of English 
Composition, both recent Edinburgh publications. With these 
has been incorporated abridged and selected matter from Beat¬ 
tie’s Rhetoric, Blair’s Rhetoric, Montgomery’s Lectures on Po¬ 
etry and other Literature, Lacon, Dr. Spring’s Lectures, Dr. 
Cheever’s Lectures, and some other similar productions. 

The Department of English and American Literature has been 
supplied chiefly from Chambers’s History of Literature, edited by 
Robbins, a very curious and valuable work; from Hall’s and 
Frost’s Selections from the British Poets; from Griswold’s, Ket- 
tel’s, and Cheever’s Collections of American Poetry; from the 
North American Review and the Democratic, from Scott’s, Wil¬ 
son’s, and Macauley’s Miscellanies, and Hazlitt’s Lectures. 

Considerable attention has been paid to the subject of letter¬ 
writing, on account of its universal utility, and the deplorable 
need of instruction that extensively prevails in regard to it. 
Beautiful examples of this kind of writing have been selected, that 
may answer, with slight modifications, as models of the style to 
be aimed at by those who have yet to learn this elegant and most 
useful art. 

In the criticisms drawn from various publications, the compiler 
has aimed to present a candid and brief, yet full statement, of the 
peculiarities of style belonging to the authors quoted, in the study 
of which, the art of literary criticism and the elements of a cor 
rect taste may be acquired, vita equal facility and pleasure. 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


Xlll 


The author had prepared, chiefly from Chambers’s History, by 
Robbins, a sketch of American authors in the various depart¬ 
ments of literature, but has laid it aside, to avoid increasing too 
mucti the size of the book ; and must content himself, therefore, 
with only referring the student to the work above named. The 
general Review, however, of American Literature at the close 
of this volume, is perhaps sufficient, without the other. 

In respect to the History and Character of the English Language 
and Literature , Mr. Connel, in his Preface, justly remarks, “ If to 
compose well be an object of importance, no less so is a knowl¬ 
edge of the history and the character of the English language 
and literature. For this reason, a succinct account of both of 
these subjects, from the earliest to the present times, has been 
subjoined to what relates more immediately to the matter of 
Composition. All the important facts, with their causes and 
consequences, connected with this subject, will be found im- 
bodied in this brief detail, and the different characters of the 
English language and literature, at different periods, carefully 
pointed out ” 

The present work is designed as a sequel to the ordinary text¬ 
books on grammar : yet there are parts of it which mav be advan¬ 
tageously used in connexion with such text-books. The author 
would also suggest to teachers the advantage of introducing into 
their schools, as preparatory to the use either of this work or of 
a grammar, some such exercises as the following, which have 
proved highly useful in the institution with which the author is 
connected. In his judgment, all our common schools, as well 
as academies, where they have not been used, would be much 
improved by the introduction of them. 

EXERCISES SUITABLE TO PRECEDE AND TO ACCOMPANY THE USE 
OF THIS BOOK. 

1. Scholars, as soon as tney are able to write a legible hand, 
should daily be employed in copying their reading-books and 
other text-books, to familiarize them with correct spelling, punc¬ 
tuation, use of capitals, and the division of paragraphs into sen¬ 
tences, as well as the combination of sentences into paragraphs. 

2. They should be required to write down, ir^an accurate man¬ 
ner, what may be said or read to them by their teacher ; and this 
process of verbal dictation and writing should form a regular 
daily exercise in every school 

3. As the easiest method of beginning to learn to compose, 
when scholars shall have occasion to speak to their teacher on 
any subject, let them occasionally, each day,'be required to write 
down on paper, or on a slate, what they desire to communicate. 
Let them be required to do this until they shall be able to trans¬ 
fer their thoughts, on familiar subjects, to paper, in a ready, as 
well as an exact manner. Let their written communication, in 
each case, be critically examined, and all its errors pointed ^ut; 
and let neatness of penmanship be duly regarded. 


XIV 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


4. It will De found highly advantageous to put young student s to 
the practice of writing a journal of their observations and attain¬ 
ments every day—a record of incidents which may have occurred 
to themselves or others, &c. 

5. In the judgment of the author, the best purposes of English 
grammar would be answered by requiring those .who study it to 
write out, carefully, all the Exercises in False Syntax, and to 
require them to rewrite such exercises until the scholar shall 
have attained perfect grammatical and literal accuracy. This 
practice would be found a readier help to the art of writing and 
of speaking the language correctly, than that of employing, or, 
rather, of wasting months and years, as is too commonly done, in 
simply parsing the language. Parsing is good, and necessary, in 
its place, but mischievous when used as a substitute for writing 
off correctly the Exercises in False Syntax. 

By the plan thus recommended above, of writing off printed 
matter which is correct in Syntax, and of correcting Exercises in 
False Syntax, and writing of!' a correct copy of them, the surest 
method will be adopted of making correct writers and speakers 
of our language, which is one of the most important uses of Eng¬ 
lish grammar. 

6. In addition to the above suggestions, students who are en 
gaged in the study of Latin and Greek, or of French authors, 
should be required, once or twice a week, to furnish correct and 
tasteful translations of portions that may be designated by the 
teacher. This will serve to make critical scholars, not only in 
respect to those languages, but in respect to our own. 

7. It is earnestly recommended that all the Practical Exercises 
in this work be carefully written by each scholar using it. When 
convenient, the short exercises may be written in the class, and 
the longer passages at home, to be afterward examined and cor¬ 
rected by the teacher. 

8. The author would recommend that all the parts of this work, 
except the first, be used in the ordinary reading Exercise until ren¬ 
dered perfectly familiar. Thus the arts of Reading and of 
Rhetoric may be learned simultaneously. Young scholars should 
read over each lesson, in the class, the day before it is to be re¬ 
cited. 

9. This work is constructed, especially Parts VI. and VII., as a 
book for Parsing. When so employed, the teacher should elicit 
rhetorical as well as grammatical principles. He should also 
study to improve the literary taste and critical powers of the stu¬ 
dent. 

10. In correcting the Exercises and Compositions of students, the 
author has found great advantage in the use of red ink. The 
errors are thus rendered conspicuous, and, to sensitive scholars, 
formidable. They are not pleaded with the glaring character 
given to their mistakes, or with the disfigured aspect which such 
corrections impart to their paper, and are led to greater care to 
avoid the evil in future assays. 


PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 


XV 


The corrections should be particular, relating to ortnography, 
capitals,, proper division into sentences and paragraphs, as well 
as to sentiments and alleged facts. Yet the corrections should 
not extend to the alteration of the style of the writer, unless very 
faulty ; lest originality be sacrificed to accuracy or polish. 

The compiler will consider himself well rewarded 
for his labour in preparing this work for the use of 
his young countrymen, if it shall find its way exten¬ 
sively into their hands ; for, if properly used, it will 
secure to them suitable instruction, while at school, 
in the indispensable art which is here set forth and 
recommended. His strongest desire, in relation to 
the literary management of schools, is, that a radical 
change may soon be introduced in the course of instruc¬ 
tion , both in common schools and academies, until it shall 
embrace, and secure the art, of the ready and elegant 
Communication of thought with the yen, as well as with 
the tongue. A change like this will contribute greatly 
to the diffusion of valuable thoughts that now vanish 
with the breath, or even vanish without utterance ; it 
will add much to social and individual happiness; it 
will advance the improvement, and increase the na¬ 
tive vigor of the human mind. 

Black River L. and R. Institute, ) 

Watertown, Jefferson Co., N. Y., August 1,1844. ) 


*** Teachers will please to notice that the First Part consist* 
almost entirely of Exercises to be written , and will find it expedi¬ 
ent, therefore, to use it by degrees, in connection with the folllow- 
ing Parts, which consist of matter for recitation, except a few 
chapters, which also embrace exercises for the pen. It is recom¬ 
mended to teachers, accordingly, to require a written exercise 
almost daily in connexiorl with the recitations, and not to require 
the whole of the First Part to be written before the Second is 
entered upon. The mode of using the book now recommended 
will be found more agreeable both to teacher and scholar than the 
other method, which some teachers have injudiciously pursued. 


PART I. 

PRACTICAL EXERCISES IN THE USE OF WORDS-IN THE 
STRUCTURE AND ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. 


INTRODUCTION. 

Composition is the art of expressing ideas in writ¬ 
ten language. 

To compose correctly, it is necessary to have a 
practical knowledge of Spelling , Punctuation, the Use 
of Words, and the Structure and Arrangement of Sen 
fences. * 

To compose with perspicuity and elegance, it is 
also necessary to have a practical knowledge of the 
various qualities of Style, and of the use of Figurative 
Language. 

To be able to write with facility, it is farther neces¬ 
sary to have considerable practice in Original Com¬ 
position. 

I.—SPELLING. 

Spelling is the art of expressing words by their 
proper letters. 

Letters are of two forms, capitals and small letters. 

SECTION I. 

CAPITAL LETTERS. 

Capital Letters are used in the following situa. 
tions: 

I. The first word of every sentence. 

II. The first word of every line of poetry. 

III. The first word of a quotation in a difect 

form. 

IV. The names of the Supreme Being 

V. Proper names, and adjectives derived from 

proper names. 

VI. The names of the days of the week, and of 

the months of the year. 

B 2 



18 SPELLING. [PART I. 

VII. Any very important word ; as, the Reforma¬ 
tion. 

VIII. The pronoun I, and the interjection O. 

IX. Generally the name of an object personified 

EXERCISES. 

Correct the errors in the following passages: 

I. The love of praise should be kept under proper subordination to the 
principle of duty, in itself, it is a useful motive to action ; but when al¬ 
lowed to extend its influence too far, it corrupts the whole character, to 
be entirely destitute of it, is a defect, to be governed by it, is depravity. 

How many clear marks of benevolent intention appear every where 
around us! what a profusion of beauty and ornament is poured forth in 
the face of nature ! what a magnificent spectacle presented to the view of 
man! what a supply contrived for his wants ! 

On whom does time hang so heavily, as on the slothful and lazy ? to 
whom are the hours so lingering 1 who are so often devoured with spleen, 
and obliged to fiy to every expedient, which can help them to get rid of 
themselves ? 

II. Restless mortals toil for naught; 
bliss in vain from earth is sought; 

„ bliss, a native of the sky, 

never wanders, mortals, try ; 
there you cannot seek in vain, 
for to seek her is to gain. 

III. An ancient heathen king, being asked What things he thought most 
proper for boys to learn, answered : “ those which they ought to practice, 
when they come to be men.” a wiser than this heathen monarch has 
taught the same sentiment: “ train up a child in the way he should go, 
and, when he is old, he will not depart from it.” 

A celebrated philosopher expressed in his motto, That time was his es¬ 
tate : An estate, which will produce nothing without cu'tivation ; but 
which will abundantly repay the labors of industry. 

IV. There lives and works 

a soul in all things, and that soul is god. 
the lord of all, himself through all diffused, 
sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 

• these are thy glorious works, parent of good. 
almighty ! thine this universal frame ! 

V. Our fields are covered with herbs from holland, and roots from ger- 
many ; with flemish farming, and Swedish turnips ; our hills with forests 
of the firs of norway. the chestnut and the poplar of the south of europe 
adorn our lawns, and below them flourish shrubs and flowers, from every 
clime, in great profusion, arabia improves our horses, china our pi^s, 
north america our poultry, and spain our sheep. 

VI. We left home on monday morning, arrived at liverpool on tuesday, 
went to manchester, by the railway, on Wednesday, and reached this t lace 
on thursday evening. 

Blessed that eve ! 

the sabbath’s harbinger, when, all complete, 
in freshest beauty, from jehovah’s hand, 
creation bloom’d ; when eden’s twilight face 
smiled like a sleeping babe. 


PUNCTUATION. 


19 


PART l.J 

VII. The first monarch of great britain and ireland, after the revolution 
of 1688, was william the third, the reign of his successor, queen anne, 
was rendered remarkable by the victories of the duke of Marlborough on 
the continent of europe, and the union between england and Scotland. 

VIII. I am monarch of all i survey, 

my right there is no..e to dispute ; 
from the fcentre all round to the sea, 
i am lord of the fowl and the brute. 

IX. o solitude ! where are the charms 
that sages have seen in thy face ? 
better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
than reign in this horrible place. 

The hope of future happiness is a perpetual source of consolation to good 
men. under trouble, it soothes their minds ; amid temptation, it sup¬ 
ports their virtue; and, in their dying moments, it enables them to say, 
“ o death ! where is thy sting 1 o grave ! where is thy victory 1” 

SECTION II. 

RULES FOR SPELLING. 

Correctness in Spelling is to be acquired chiefly by 
attending to the practice of the best modern writers 
and lexicographers ; by frequent copying from books ; 
and by writing from the dictation of the teacher, which 
should be pursued till perfect accuracy is attained. 

II.— PUNCTUATION. 

The Points used in Composition are the Comma (,), 
the Semicolon (;), the Colon (:), the Period (.), the Point 
of Interrogation (?), the Point of Exclamation (!), the 
Dash (—), and the Parenthesis ( ). 

For Rules of Punctuation, consult Grammars. 

No instructer, or intelligent pupil, can read the following remarks on 
Punctuation (extracted from the “ Young Ladies’ Own Book’’), and not be 
thoroughly convinced, and that in a manner the most amusing, of the ne¬ 
cessity of acquiring a practical knowledge of this art—the art of so point¬ 
ing our sentences as to convey our meaning without ambiguity. 

Punctuation is a matter of the utmost consequence 
in every species of composition : without it there can be 
no clearness, strength, or accuracy. Its utility consists in 
separating the different portions of what is written, in such 
a manner, that the subjects may be properly classed and sub¬ 
divided, so as to convey the precise meaning of the writer 
to the reader; to show the relation which the various parts 
bear to each other ; to unite such as ought to be connected, 
and to keep apart such as have no mutual dependance. 

The same words, by means of different modes of punctu- 


20 


PUNCTUATION. 


[part I. 

ation, may be made to express two meanings exactly oppo¬ 
site to each other; an ambiguous passage may frequently 
be rendered clear by a comma ; and the sense of an unin¬ 
telligible sentence be made manifest by the simple remedy 
of a couple of colons, judiciously applied. Were many let¬ 
ters to be read aloud, precisely as they are written, they 
would sound like the mere “ farrago of nonsense.” 

To acquire the leading principles of punctuation, no better 
plan can be adopted, than to copy page after page of good 
editions of modern authors—copying the points as well as 
words. It is also advisable to copy occasionally a page or 
two without capitals or points; and after it has been laid 
aside a few days, to endeavor to write it again with the 
proper points. By a subsequent comparison with the origi¬ 
nal, the writer may discover the errors made, and guard 
against similar blunders in future exercises. 

To show the necessity of not merely using points, but of punc¬ 
tuating properly , examine the following passage : 

“ The persons inside the coach were Mr Miller a clergy¬ 
man his son a lawyer Mr Angelo a foreigner his lady and a 
little child” 

This passage, thus written without points, is unintelligi¬ 
ble : by different modes of punctuating it, several alterations 
may be made in its sense ; not only as to the number of 
persons in the coach, but, also, as to their country, profes¬ 
sions, and relationship to each other. By a change of points, 
the lady may be described as the wife of either one of two 
persons: Mr. Miller’s son may be made a clergyman, or a 
lawyer, at will; or his son may be taken from him and giv¬ 
en to a clergyman, whose name is not mentioned. 

The following variations, by use of points, will equally 
amuse and instruct: 

(1.) “The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller, a 
clergyman, his son, a lawyer, Mr. Angelo, a foreigner, his 
lady, and a little child.” 

By this mode of pointing, it would appear that there were 
eight individuals in the coach, namely, a clergyman, a 
lawyer, a foreigner and his lady, a little child, Mr. Miller, 
Mr. Angelo, ana ^ clergyman’s son. 

(2.) “ The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller, a 
clergyman; his son, a lawyer; Mr. Angelo, a foreigner; his 
lady; and a little child.” 

This change in the punctuation would reduce the parties 
in the coach, exclusive of tli$ lady and child, to three per- 


PART I.J USE OF WORDS. 21 

sons; and make Mr. Miller himself a clergyman, Mr. Mil. 
ler’s son a lawyer, and Mr. Angelo a foreigner. 

(3.) “The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller; a 
clergyman, his son ; a lawyer, Mr. Angelo ; a foreigner, his 
lady, and a little child.” 

Here Mr. Miller’s son becomes a clergyman, Mr. Angelo 
a lawyer, and the lady and child those of a foreigner who is 
nameless. 

(4.) “ The persons inside the coach were Mr. Miller; a 
clergyman, his son ; a lawyer; Mr. Angelo; a foreigner, his 
lady; and a little child.” 

Mr. Angelo here ceases to be a lawyer; there is no lon¬ 
ger a foreigner who is the husband of the lady and the fa¬ 
ther of the child; but the lady is described as being a for¬ 
eigner, and Mr. Angelo’s wife ; and the child is not under¬ 
stood as being akin to any person in the coach. 

Other alterations might be made in the sense of this pas¬ 
sage by altering the punctuation ; but sufficient has been 
done to show the necessity of pointing a passage so as to 
accord with the fact it is intended to relate. 

III.—OF WORJ)j§. 

Words are divided, according to their use in ex¬ 
pressing ideas, into nine classes, namely: 

I. Articles, or words which limit the significa¬ 
tion of other words. 

II. Nouns , or names of persons, places, and 
things. 

III. Adjectives , or words which qualify nouns 

IV. Pronouns , or words used in place of nouns. 

V. Verbs, or words which affirm. 

VI. Adverbs, or words which qualify verbs, adjec¬ 
tives, or other adverbs. 

VII. Prepositions, or words which show the rela¬ 
tion of one thing to another. 

VIII. Conjunctions, or words which connect words 
and sentences. 

IX. Interjections, or words which express sudden 
emotion. 


22 


USE OF WORDS. 


[part I 


SECTION I. 


ELLIPTICAL SENTENCES. 


Supply the words omitted in the following exam 


pies 


I. flower. apple. house, 

fields. rainbow. clouds, 

bess. Pope. pens. ornament. 
Thames. rivulet. continent. 

II. A good . A wise . A strong 

diligent . A happy . Shady 

dant . A peaceful . An affable 
The duty. discovers a little 

and 

III. A 

streams. A 

breezes. An countenance. A 

An - subject. A resolution 


honour. 

variety. 

sun. 

laws. 


garden. 

Rhine. 

earthquake. 


ab 


. An obedient . A 

A fragrant . The ver 
. The king’s 
. is the of 


sea. The 
winter. 


tempest. A cavern, 

doves. The firmament, 

agreement. 

, , and 


war 

. A 


IV. 


mind is an 
am sincere 


hon 


our them, 
completed 

• 

nrc , 
V. Vice 
mine, 
lion. All 


encourage . 
journey, 
was choice 1 
tell of 
misery. 
Her work 
talents to 


a great blessing to 
also the heart, 

relief to others by 


treasure. 

art industrious. is disinterested. 

. commend . assisted 

fears will detect . I.et improve 

books are ? best friends 

faults, and teach how to correct . 

your lessons. The book his: it 
her credit. Your conduct their approba- 
. not of the favours you . It 

pious and virtuous parents. Whatever 
They who nothing to , often 

what they . we to the 


frequently 


them 


We 


resolve, but 
deserves to succeed, 
will they arrive 1 


per- 
We are 


chambers of sickness and distress, we 
with the victims of intemperance. 

VI. The task is performed, 

form. He has been diligent, and 

and formed. 

shall we stop 1 the lark sings! is no greater 

felicity, than to be able to look on a life and em- 

ployed. 

VII. They traveled France Italy. virtue vice 

the progress is gradual. We are often our wishes, and our 

desert. this imprudence he was plunged new difficulties. The 

best preparation all the uncertainties futurity, consists a good 
conscience, and a cheerful submission the will Heaven. 

VIII. My father mother are in town, my brother is in the coun¬ 
try. We must be temperate, we would be healthy. he is often 

advised, he does not reform. prosperity adversity has im¬ 

proved him. Her talents are more brilliant useful. There is nothing 
on earth stable to assure us of undisturbed rest, powerful 

to afford us constant protection. 


IX. 


Virtue ! how amiable thou art! 


me ! what shall I do! 


Thou who reignest above! ! I have been too often occupied with 

trifles. ! the delusions of hope. , Simplicity ! source of genuine 

joy. ! how the tempest rages ! ! how pleasant it is for brethren 

to dwell together in unity ! 

1. An youth lamented, terms of sincere , the death of 

most parent. Ilis companion to console by 


PART I.] 


USE OF WORDS. 


23 


reflection, he had 
ness, respect. “ 


behaved the deceased duty, tender- 
I thought,” replied the , “ while parent 


instances 
atonement.” 
of honey ; 
. They soon 
flowers, 

with the various 
his thighs, at in¬ 
winter ; other 
his present 
hung beneath 


was ; but I - , with pain sorrow, 

disobedience and , for which, ! it is late to 
2. On a morning summer, two bees forward in 
the wise temperate, the careless and - 

at a garden with herbs, the most 

the most fruits. They regaled 

that spread before : the one 

tervals, provisions for the against the 

reveled in , without to any thing 

At they a wide-mouthed vial, 

bough a peach-tree, with honey ready tempered, and exposed to 
their. in most alluring . thoughtless epicure, in of 
his friend’s , plunged into the vessel, resolving to 

himself in the of sensuality. His philosophic , on 

."he other , sipped little caution; being of dan¬ 
ger, off to and flowers ; where, by the of meals, 

improved his relish the enjoyment them. the evening 
, he upon his friend, to inquire he would to 

the hive ; but he found him in swoets, he was as 

to leave to enjoy. Clogged in his , enfeebled in his , and his 
frame enervated, was just able to his 

adieu; and to with his breath, that a taste 

pleasure quicken relish life, an indulgence 

to destruction. 


SECTION II. 

WORDS TO FORM SENTENCES. 

Take the following words, and connect and arrange 
them so as to make sense : 

EXAMPLE, 

Prompts, others, relieve, compassion, to, wants, the, of, us 

Compassion prompts us to relieve the wants of others. 

EXERCISES. 

I Heart, has, in, true, its, politeness, the, seat. 

2. Unwilling, pain, a, give, to, good, is, mind. 

3. Evils, great, is, by, a, human, ourselves, proportion, of, created. 

<*. Vanity, if, greatness, our, flatters, our, multiplies, it, dangers. 

i). For, preparing, another, in, world, this, must, life, we, duties, the, 
leglect, of, not. 

6. Amiable, there, and, is, more, nothing, respectable, life, in, than, hu¬ 
man, humble, benevolent, character, man, the, of, a, truly, and. 

7. In, multitudes, obscure, the, stations, most, broils, are, petty, in, not, 
less, their, eager, by, nor, passions, tormented, their, less, contend, than, 
if, they, princely, for, which, prize, were, the, honours. 

8. Parent, anxious, with, does, what, the, care, hen, together, call, her, 
and, offspring, them, wings, her, with, cover ! Suggest, mother, does, to. 
your, this, you, of, not, the, sight, and, tenderness, affection? Helpless, 
watchful, infancy, protected, her, care, you, in, period, the, of, nourished 
vhen, mjik, she, with, you, her, and, move, to, your, taught, limbs, and, 
.'■•cents, its, tongue, unformed, to. your, lisp. Childhood, in, y-ui- grief» 


24 


USE OF WORDS 


[part I. 

she, your, little, over, mourned, delights, in, your, rejoiced, innocent, heal¬ 
ing, to, sickness, administered, the, balm, in, you, aud, mind, of, instilled, 
the, wisdom, into, love, your, truth, and, of, virtue. , 


SECTION III. 

.WORDS TO FORM SENTENCES ( COntivued ). 

Supply such words as are necessary to make sense 
of the following exercises : 

EXAMPLE. 

Old, age, joyless, dreary, season, arrive, unimproved, corruptei, mind. 

Old age will prove a joyless and dreary season, if we arrive at it with an 
unimproved or a corrupted mind. 

EXERCISES. 

1. No, errors, trivial, deserve, mended. 

2. Work, dull, performance, capable, pleasing, neither, understanding, 
imagination. 

3. When, Socrates, fell, victim, madness, truth, virtue, fell. 

4. Gay, pleasing, sometimes, insidious, dang ^rous, companions. 

5. Taste, useful, knowledge, provide, great, noble, entertainment, other, 
leave. 

6. Anxious, votary, riches, negligent, pleasure. 

7. Perseverance, laudable, pursuits, reward, toils, effects, calculation*. 

8. Changes, continually, place, men, manners, opinions, customs, private, 
public. 

9. Religious, unjustly, romantic, visionary, unacquainted, world, unfit, 
live. 


SECTION IV. 

DERIVATIVE WORDS. 

Make out a list of derivatives from the following 
primitive words, and then write a sentence, either 
quoted or original, containing each of them : 

EXAMPLE. 

Act, actor, actress, action, active, activity, actively, actual, actually, ac¬ 
tuary, actuate, counteract, eaact, exact, exactly, exactor, exactness, exac¬ 
tion, inaction, inactive, inactivity, overact, react, reaction, transact, trans¬ 
action. 

I scarcely know how to act in the matter. Like a dull actor now, I have 
forgot my part. Who is the most celebrated actress of the present day 1 Both 
the body and the mind should be kept in action. The steward is an active 
man of business. Do not remit your activity. We are actively employed. 
Every man is daily guilty of actual transgression.. How often is old age 
actually arrived before we suspect it. The actuary of the court died very 
lately. Our passions too frequently actuate our conduct. Counteract the 
mischief by doing all the good you can. It is enacted in the laws of Venice. 
I now exact the penalty. John was here exactly at the hour. Exactions 
and exactors overspread the land. You have performed the task with great 
exactness. I lie in a refreshing kind of inaction. Inactive youth will be 
followed by profitless old age. Virtue concealed is inactivity at best. You 
overact when you should underdo. The son reads the father’s crimes 


USE OF WORDS. 


25 


PART I.] 


The action and reaction are equal. My father transacted business in the 
office to-day. Give me a minute account of all your transactions. 


EXERCISES. 


1. ArP. 

5. Firm. 

9. Mediate. 

2. Cede. 

6. Heir. 

10. Migrate. 

3. Claim. 

7. Join. 

11. Mission. 

4. Err. 

8. Just. 

12. Move. 


13. Note. 

14. Part. 

15. Pure. 

16. Serve. 


SECTION Y. 


VARIETY OF EXPRESSION. 

Vary the expression in the following sentences by 
changing the parts of speech : 

EXAMPLES. 

V 

1. Wisdom is better than riches. To be wise is better than to be rich. 

tie wise are better than the rich. 

2. Be humble in your whole behavior. Always behave yourself humbly. 
Behave yourself with humility on all occasions. 

EXERCISES. 

1. Piety and virtue will make our whole life happy. 

2. Modesty is one of the chief ornaments of youth. 

3. The eager and presumptuous are continually disappointed. 

4. Friendly sympathy heightens every joy. 

5. Praise is pleasing to the mind of man. 

6. To deceive the innocent is utterly disgraceful. 

7. A family where the great Father of the universe is duly reverenced, 
where parents are honored and obeyed, and where brothers and sisters 
dwell together in affection and harmony, is surely a most delightful and 
interesting spectacle. 


SECTION VI. 

VARIETY OF EXPRESSION ( Continued ). 

Vary the expression in the following sentences by 
using synonymous words and phrases : 

EXAMPLE. 

Wrath kindles wrath. Anger inflames anger. Strife begets strife. 
One angry passion excites another. 

EXERCISES. 

1. The avaricious man has no friend. 

2. It is not easy to love those whom we do not esteem. 

3. Few have courage to correct their friends. 

4. Passion swells by gratification. 

5. The great source of pleasure is variety. 

6. Knowledge is to be gained only by study. 

7. Sir Isaac Newton possessed a remarkably mild and even temper 
This great man, on a particular occasion, was called out of his study to an 
adjoining apartment. A little dog, named Diamond, the constant but in¬ 
curious attendant of his master’s researches, happened to be left among 
the papers, and threw down a lighted candle, which consumed the almost 
finished labors «f some years. Sir Isaac soon returned, and had the mor 

c 





26 


STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 


[part I. 


tifir/itnn to behold his irreparable loss. But with his usual self-possession 
he only exclaimed. “ Oh, Diamond! Diamond 1 thou little knowest the 
mischief thou hast done.”* 


SECTION VII. 

WORDS SUGGESTED TO FORM SENTENCES. 

Let one pupil name a subject, and each of the 
others, at the suggestion of the teacher, successively 
give a word or phrase. 

Let the words and phrases be written down as they 
are suggested, and afterward re-written so as to make 
sense: 


EXAMPLE. 

Name a subject. The horse. A noun common to the horse and all other 
animals of the same kind? Quadruped. An adjective descriptive of some 
property in the horse ? Beautiful. An adverb to increase the signification 
of beautiful. Most. Is the horse the most beautiful of quadrupeds ? He 
appears to be so. 

The horse, quadruped, beautiful, most, appears. 

A noun which refers to the largeness or smallness of the horse? Size. 
A noun applicable to his skin? Smoothness. A noun applicable to his 
motions? Ease. A noun applicable to his shape? Symmetry. Adjectives 
descriptive of the horse, to qualify those nouns? Tine, glossy, graceful, 
exact. What do all these properties entitle the horse to ? Distinction. 

Size, skin, smoothness, motions, ease, shape, symmetry, fine, glossy , 
graceful, exact, entitle, distinction. 

Of all quadrupeds, the horse appears to be the most beautiful. His fine 
size, the glossy smoothness of his skin, the graceful ease of his motions 
and the exact symmetry of his shape, entitle him to this distinction.? 

EXERCISES. 


1. Dog. 

5. Copper. 

9. Solomon. 

13. Air. 

2. Ostrich. 

6. Man. 

10. Alfred. 

14. Rain. 

3. Whale. 

7. Body. 

11. Sun. 

15. Earth. 

4. Gold. 

8. Mind. 

12. Moon. 

16. Wood. 


IV.—STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

A Sentence is any number of words joined together 
in such a manner as to form a complete proposition. 

Every complete proposition or sentence contains a 
subject , or thing spoken of, and a predicate , or what is 
said of the subject. 

* Pupils may be exercised, according to the two preceding sections, oa 
their daily reading-lessons. 

t In answer to his suggestions and questions the teacher will get a 
variety of words, in selecting the most appropriate of which he may exer¬ 
cise the judgment and taste of his pupils. He may also make them vary 
the expression according to Sections V. and VI. The exercises in this 
section may be extended to any length. 





PART I.] STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 27 

When the affirmation is not limited to the subject, 
a complete proposition or sentence also contains an 
object. 

The subject of a sentence is always a noun, or two 
or more nouns joined together; a pronoun, or pro¬ 
nouns ; the infinitive of a verb ; or a part of a sen¬ 
tence. 

The predicate is always a verb, or a clause contain¬ 
ing a verb. 

The object is always a noun, a pronoun, the infinitive 
or present participle of a verb, or a part of a sentence. 

The principal rules to be observed in joining words 
together in sentences, must be sought in the grammar. 

SECTION I. 

VARIETY OF CONSTRUCTION. 

Vary the construction in the following sentences 
by changing the subjects, the predicates, or the ob¬ 
jects : 

EXAMPLE. 

Temperance in eating and drinking is the best preservative of health. 
To be temperate in eating and drinking is the best preservative of health. 
To eat and drink temperately is the best preservative of health. The best 
preservative of health is temperance in eating and drinking. The best way 
to preserve health is to eat and drink temperately. Temperance in eating 
and drinking best preserves health. Health is best preserved by temper¬ 
ance in eating and drinking. To eat and drink temperately is the best 
way to preserve health. Temperance in eating and drinking promotes 
health. Health depends upon temperance in eating and drinking. Health 
is promoted by temperance in eating and drinking. Health is promoted by 
eating and drinking temperately. We must eat and drink temperately to 
preserve health. 

EXERCISES. 

1. To lire soberly, righteously, and piously, is required of all men. 

2. To grieve immoderately shows weakness. 

3. Timid men fear to die. 

4. That it is our duty to be just and kind to our fellow-creatures, admits 
not of any doubt in a rational and well-informed mind. 

5. To cultivate piety toward God, to exercise benevolence toward others, 
and to be of a pure and humble mind, are the sure means of becoming 
peaceful and happy. 

6. By observing truth you will command esteem. 

SECTION II. 

SIMPLE SENTENCES. 

Sentences are either simple or complex. 


28 


STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. [PART I. 

A simple sentence contains only one proposition. 

A complex sentence consists of two or more simple 
sentences so combined as to make but one complete 
proposition. 

Divide the following complex into simple sen¬ 
tences : 


EXAMPLE. 

Friendship improves happiness, and abates misery, by doubling - our joy 
and dividing our grief. 

Friendship improves happiness. Friendship abates misery. Friendship 
doubles our joy. Friendship divides our grief. 

EXERCISES. 

1. Modesty is not properly a virtue, but it is a very good sign of a tract¬ 
able disposition, and a great preservative against vice. 

2. Thousands, whom indolence has sunk into contemptible obscurity, 
might have attained the highest distinctions, if idleness had not frustrated 
the effect of all their powers. 

3. At our first setting out in life, when yet unacquainted with the world 
and its snares, when every pleasure enchants with its smile, and every ob¬ 
ject shines with the gloss of novelty, let us beware of the seducing appear¬ 
ances which surround us, and recollect what others have suffered from the 
power of headstrong desire. 


SECTION III. 

ABRIDGMENT OF COMPLEX SENTENCES. 

The clauses of a complex sentence are either prin¬ 
cipal or secondary. 

The principal clause is that which contains the 
leading proposition; and it must express a complete 
idea, even when separated from the rest of the sen¬ 
tence. 

A secondary clause is a simple sentence, or part of 
a sentence, modifying the principal clause. 

Secondary clauses may be divided into Adjective, 
Relative , Participial , Adverbial , Connective or Conjunc 
live , Absolute , Apposition , Parenthetical, &c. 

An adjective clause is introduced by an adjective. 

A relative clause is introduced by a relative pro¬ 
noun. 

A participial clause is introduced by a participle, 
which describes some other word in the sentence. 

An adverbial clause is introduced by an adverb. 

A connective or conjunctive clause is introduced by a 
conjunction. 


\ 


PART I.] STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 20 

An absolute clause is not dependent upon any other 
word or words in the sentence. 

An apposition clause contains a noun placed in ap¬ 
position with the word or clause going before. 

A parenthetical clause is enclosed by a parenthesis. 

Abridge the following passages by writing only the 
principal clauses, making each a separate sentence: 

EXAMPLE. 

Socrates, though primarily attentive to the culture of his mind, was not 
negligent of his external appearance. His cleanliness resulted from those 
ideas of order and decency which governed all his actions. 

Socrates was not negligent of his external apoearance. His cleanliness 
resulted from his ideas oi order and decency.* 


SECTION IY. 

ABRIDGMENT OF COMPLEX SENTENCES ( Continued ). 

Abridge the following passages by writing in each 
sentence the principal clause, and such secondary 
clauses only as the sense may require :f 

EXAMPLE. 

* 

Sir Philip Sidney, at the battle near Zutphen, was wounded by a raUs- 
ket-ball, which broke the bone of his thigh. He was carried about a mile 
and a half to the camp; and being faint with the loss of blood, and prob¬ 
ably parched with thirst, through the heat of the weather, he called for 
drink. It was immediately brought to him ; but as he was putting the 
vessel to his mouth, a poor wounded soldier, who happened at that instant 
to be carried past him, looked up to it with wistful eyes. The gallant and 
generous Sidney took the bottle from his mouth, and delivered it to the 
soldier, saying, “Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.” 

Sir Philip Sidney was wounded by a rhusket-ball, which broke the bone 
of his thigh. He was carried t< the camp ; and being faint with the loss 
of blood, he called for drink. As he was putting the vessel to his mouth, 
a poor wounded soldier looked up at it with wistful eyes. The gallant and 
generous Sidney delivered him the bottle, saying, “ Thy necessity is yet 
greater than mine.” 


SECTION Y. 

VARIETY OF STRUCTURE. 

Vary the structure of the following sentences by 
changing the form of the clauses: 

• < 

* The teacher may select exercises from any reading book, for this and 
tne following sections. 

t In exercises like this, the teacher may suggest whether the secondary 
clauses should be adjective, relative, participial, adverbial, connective, ah* 
■olute, apposition, or parenthetical. 

C 2 


30 


STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 


[part I. 


EXAMPI.F 

The boy, attentive to his studies, is sure to excel. The boy, who is at¬ 
tentive to his studies, is sure to excel. The boy, being attentive to his 
studies, is sure to excel. The boy is sure to excel, as he is attentive to 
his studies. The boy is sure to excel, if he be attentive to his studies. 
By being attentive to' his studies, the boy is sure to excel. 

EXERCISES. 

1. Sharpe being lost, all virtue is lost. 

2. The king, who had never before committed an unjust action, dismiss¬ 
ed his minister without inquiry. 

3. He descended from his throne, and ascended the scaffold, and said, 
“ Live, incomparable pair.” 

4. She was deprived of all but her innocence, and lived in a retired cot¬ 
tage with her widowed mother, and was concealed more by her modesty 
than by solitude. 


SECTION VI. 

VARIETY OF STRUCTURE AND EXPRESSION. 

Vary both the structure and the expression of the 
following sentences: 

EXAMPLE. 

A wolf let into the sheepfold, will devour the sheep. A wolf being let 
into the sheepfold, the sheep will be devoured. If we let a wolf into the 
fold, the sheep will be devoured. The wolf will devour the sheep, if the 
sheepfold be left open. If the fold be not shut, the wolf will devour the 
sheep. Slaughter will be made among the sheep, if the wolf get into the 
fold. 

EXERCISES. 

1. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners. 

2. All mankind must taste the bitter cup which destiny has mixed. 

3. The places of those who refused to come were soon filled with a mul¬ 
titude of delighted guests. 

4. He who lives always in the bustle of the world, lives in a perpetual 
warfare 


SECTION VII. 

COMPLEX SENTENCES. 

Combine the following simple into complex senten¬ 
ces, making the secondary clauses adjective, relative, 
participial, adverbial, connective, absolute, apposition, 
or parenthetical, as the sense may require : 

EXAMPLE. 

The wall of China is evidence of a rich nation. The wall of China is 
evidence of a populous nation. The wall of China is evidence of an effem¬ 
inate nation. Men of courage defend themselves by the sword. Men of 
courage do not defend themselves by bulwarks. 

The wall of China is evidence of a rich and populous nation ; but it is 
also evidence of an effeminate nation: men of courage defend themselves 
by the sword, not by bulwarks. 


PART I.] 


STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES 


31 


EXERCISES. 


1. Diligence is a material duty of the young. Industry is a ma erial 
duty of the young. Proper improvement of time is a material duty of the 
young. 

2. Patience preserves composure within. Patience resists impression* 
from without. Trouble makes impressions from without. 

3. Our sky seems settled and serene. In some unobserved quarter gath¬ 
ers the little black cloud. In the little black cloud the tempest ferments. 
In the little black cloud the tempest prepares to discharge itself on our 
nead. 

4. The benevolent John Howard settled his accounts at the close of the 
year. He found a balance in his favor. He proposed to his wife to make 
use of it in a journey to London. He proposed to make use of it in any 
other amusement she chose. “ What a pretty cottage for a poor family it 
would build !” was her reply. This charitable hint met his cordial appro¬ 
bation. The money was laid out accordingly. 

5. A farmer stepped into a field to mend a gap in one of the fences. At 
his return he found the cradle turned upside down. He had left his only 
child asleep in the cradle. The clothes were all torn and bloody. His dog 
was lying near the cradle besmeared also with blood. He immediately 
conceived that the dog had destroyed his child. He instantly dashed out 
the dog’s brains with the hatchet in his hand. lie turned up the cradle. 
He found his child unhurt. He found an enormous serpent lying dead on 
the floor. The serpent had been killed by the faithful dog. The courago 
and fidelity of the dog preserved the life of the child. The courage and 
fidelity of the dog deserved a vejy different return. 


SECTION VIII. 


IDEAS SUGGESTED TO FORM SENTENCES. 


Let the teacher propose a subject, and each pupil 
at his suggestion, successively express an idea upon it. 

Let the ideas be written down as first expressed, 
and afterward re-written in simple or compound sen¬ 
tences, as the sense may require: 


EXAMPLE. 


Write about Silver. Name some of its properties. It is brilliant. It is 
■sonorous. It is ductile. Where is it found T In various parts of the world. 
Particularly in South America. At Potosi. What are its uses ? It is 
coined into money. It is manufactured into silver-plate. 

Silver is a brilliant, sonorous, and ductile metal. It is found in variou« 
parts of the world, and particularly at Potosi in South America. It is 
coined into money, and manufactured into silver-plate. 


EXERCISES. 


I. Iron. 
<2. Oak. 
3. Bee. 


5. Com. 

6. Paper. 

7. Tiger. 
8- Day. 


9. Music. 

10. Pyramids. 

11. Abraham. 

12. Paul. 


13. Sabbath. 

14. Scriptures 

15. Soul- 


4 . Silkworm. 


16. Wisdom. 




32 


ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. [PART i. 


V.— ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. 

The Arrangement of words in sentences is eitner 
grammatical or rhetorical. 

Grammatical arrangement is the order in which words 
are usually placed in speaking and writing. 

Rhetorical arrangement is that order of the words, in 
which the emphatical parts of the sentence are placed 
first. 

The rhetorical arrangement is used chiefly in poetry and impassioned 
prose. 

The principal rules for arranging words in senten¬ 
ces are as follows : 


I. In sentences grammatically arranged, the subject 
or nominative is generally placed before the verb; as, 
“ The birds sing;” “ To obey is better than sacrifice.” 

In sentences rhetorically arranged, the subject or 
nominative is often placed after the verb; as, “ Shines 
forth the cheerful sun “ Great is Diana of the Ephe¬ 
sians.” 


• The nominative is also placed after the verb in the following instances : 

1. When the sentence is interrogative ; as. “ l>c riches make men hap¬ 

py 1” 

2. When the sentence is imperative ; as, “ Go thou.” 

3. When a supposition is expressed by an ellipsis ; as, “ Were it true.” 

4. When the sentence begins with there, here, &c. ; as, “ There was a 

commotion among the people “ Here are five loaves .” ' 

5. In such phrases a6, said he, replied they, &c. 


II. The article is always placed before the noun, 
whose signification it limits; as, “ A table;” “ An ink- 
stand ;” “ The book.” 


1. When the noun is qualified by an adjective, the article is placed be 
fore the adjective ; as, A large house.” 

2. The indefinite article is placed between the noun and the adjectives 
many and such; and also between the noun and all adjectives which are 
preceded by as, so, too, and how ; as, “ Many a man has attained independ 
ence by industry and perseverance “ Such a misfortune has seldom hap* 
pened “ So peat a multitude “ How mighty a prince 

3. The definite article is placed between the noun and the adjective all 
as, “ All the people are assembled.” 


III. In sentences grammatically arranged, the ad 
jective is generally placed before the noun which i* 
qualifies ; as, “ A beautiful tree ;” “ A swift horse.” 

In sentences rhetorically arranged, the adjective 
when it is emphatic, is sometimes placed at the be 


PART I.J ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. 33 

ginning of the sentence; as, “ Just and true are all 
thy ways.” 

The adjective is frequently placed after the noun in the following instan¬ 
ces : 

1. When it is used as a title ; as, “ Alexander the Great." 

2. When other words depend upon it; as, “ A man generous to his ene¬ 
mies.” 

3. When several adjectives belong to one noun; as, “ A man wise, just, 
and charitable." 

4. When the adjective expresses dimension ; as, “ A wall ten feet high." 

5. When it expresses the effect of an active verb; as, “ Vice renders 
men miserable." 

6. When a neuter verb comes between it and the noun or pronoun ; as, 
“ It seems strange." 

IV. The pronoun of the third person is placed after 
that of the second; and the pronoun of the first person 
after those of the second and third; as, “ You and I 
will go “ Shall it be given to you , to him, or to me V ’ 

V. In sentences grammatically arranged, the active 
verb is geiterally placed before the word which it 
governs; as, “ If you respect me, do not despise my 
friend.” 

In sentences rhetorically arranged, the active verb 
is frequently placed after the word which it governs ; 
as, “ Silver and gold have I none.” 

The active verb is also placed after relative pronouns ; as, “ lie is a mar. 
whom I greatly esteem." • 

VI. In sentences grammatically arranged, the infin¬ 
itive mood is placed after the verb which governs it; 
as, “ He loves to learn.” 

In sentences rhetorically arranged, the infinitive 
mood, when emphatic, is placed before the word which 
governs it; as, “ Go I must, whatever may ensue.” 

VII. Adverbs are generally placed immediately be¬ 
fore or immediately after the words which they quali¬ 
fy ; as, “ Very good;” “ He acted wisely.” 

Adverbs, when emphatic, are sometimes placed at 
the beginning of a sentence ; as, “ How completely his 
passion has blinded him !” 

VIII. Prepositions are generally placed before the 
words which they govern; as, “ With me;” “ To them.” 

In familiar language, prepositions are sometimes placed after the words 
which they govern, and even at a distance from them; as, “ Such con¬ 
duct I am at a loss to account for." 


84 ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. [PART I. 

3X. Conjunctions are placed between the words or 
clauses which they connect; as, “ Come and see 
“ Be cautious ; but speak the truth.” 

i ( 1. Conjunctions of one syllable, with the exception of then, are alwajs 
'•placed first in the clauses or sentences which they connect; as, “Virtue 
is praised by many, and doubtless would be desired also, if her wortn 
were really known: see, then, that you do as she requires.” 

2. Conjunctions of more than one syllable (with the exception of whereas, 
which must always be the first word in the sentence or clause) may be 
transferred to the place where they are the most agreeable to the ear in 
reading ; as, “ Piety and holiness will make our whole life happy ; where¬ 
as sinful pursuits will yield only a few scattered pleasures. Let us dili¬ 
gently cultivate the former, therefore, while we carefully abstain from the 
latter.” 

SECTION I. 

VARIETY OF ARRANGEMENT. 

Vary the arrangement of the following sentences by 
transposing the members or clauses : 

EXAMPLE. 

1 had long before now repented of my roving course of life, but I could 
not free my mind from the love of travel. 

Of my roving course of life I had long before now repented, but from the 
love of travel I could not free my mind. 

I could not free my mind from the love of travel, though I had long before 
now repented of my roving course of life. 

From the love of travel I could not free my mind, though of my roving 
course of life I had long before now repented. 

EXERCISES. 

1. The Roman state evidently declined in proportion to the increase of 
luxury. 

2. For all that you think, and speak, and do, you must at the last day 
account. 

3. The greatness of mind which shows itself in dangers and labors, if it 
wants justice, is blamable. 

4. It is a fact, about which men now rarely differ, that the paper-mill 
and the printing-press are inventions for which we can not be too thankful.* 

SECTION II. 

VARIETY OF ARRANGEMENT ( Continued ). 

Change the grammatical into the rhetorical arrange¬ 
ment in the following passages : 

EXAMPLE. 

You may set my fields on fire, and give my children to the sword; you 
may drive myself forth a houseless, childless beggar, or load me with the 
fetters of knavery ; but you never can conquer the hatred I feel to your op 
pression. 

* Exercises similar to those under Sections I., II., III., IV., V., may W 
prescribed from the reading-lessons of a class. 


ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. 


35 


PART I.] 

My fields you may set on fire, and my children give to the sword ; my 
self you may drive forth a houseless, childless beggar, or load with th» 
fetters of slavery; but the hatred I feel to your oppression never can yoa 
conquer. 

EXERCISES. 

1. All the Jews, who knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, 
know my manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine 
own nation at Jerusalem, that I lived a Pharisee after the straitest sect of 
our religion. 

2. I weep for Caesar, as he loved me ; I rejoice, as he was fortunate ; 1 
nonor him, .as he was valiant; but I slew him, as he was ambitious. 

3. The noon of day is calm. The inconstant sun flies over the green 
hill. The .stream of the mountain comes down red, through the stony 
vale. O Morar! thou wert tall on the hill; fair among the sons of the 
plain. Thy wrath was as the storm ; thy sword, in battle, as lightning in 
the field. Thy voice was like thunder on distant hills. But how peaceful 
was thy brow when thou didst return from war! Thy face was like the 
6un after rain; calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is 
hushed into repose. Thy dwelling is Marrow now; the place of thine 
abode is dark. O thou who wast so great before! I compass thy grave 
with three steps. 


SECTION III. 

variety of arrangement ( continued). 

Change passages of poetry into prose, making such 
alterations, both in arrangement and in structure, as 
the meaning and harmony of the sentences require: 

EXAMPLE. 

A solitary blessing few can find; 

Our joys with those we love are intertwined ; 

And he whose wakeful tenderness removes 

Th’ obstructing thorn which wounds the friend he loves, 

Smooths not another’s rugged path alone, 

But scatters roses to adorn his own. * 

Few can find a solitary blessing; our joys are intertwined with those 
whom we love; and he, whose wakeful tenderness removes the thorn 
which wounds his friend, not only smooths the rugged path of another, but 
scatters roses to adorn kis own.* 

SECTION IV. 

EXPRESSION OF IDEAS. 

Let the pupil express the ideas contained .a the fol¬ 
lowing passages, in sentences of his own construction 
and arrangement: 

EXAMPLE. 

When a man says, in conversation, that it is fine weather, does he mean 
»o inform you of the fact ? Surely not; for every one knows it as well as 
he does. He means to communicate his agreeable feelings. 

* Let exercises be drawn from the poetry in the latter part of this 

volume. 


36 


ARRANGEMENT OF SENTENCES. 


[part 1. 


Almost every one whom you meet by the way begins the conversation by 
remarking, “ It is a fine day.” But when he does so, it is not because he 
supposes the fact known to him and not to you; he is merely giving ex¬ 
pression to those agreeable feelings which the fineness of the weather ex* 
cites. 

[ExERCisfs may be selected by the teacher from this work.] 

SECTION Y. 

EXPRESSION OF IDEAS. 

Let the pupil write from the following’ hints, ex¬ 
pressing the ideas in sentences of his own construe 
tion and arrangement: 

EXERCISES 

1. The camel: where found; the varieties of this animal found in 
some countries ; description of countries in which found : what got from 
it; what its special use ; how adapted for traveling; its docility ; anec¬ 
dotes of the camel. 

2. The cotton-plant: where cultivated; how raised; what it yields, 
how produce gathered ; how prepared; cotton-manufactures ; where car¬ 
ried to greatest perfection ; by what means; improvers of cotton-manu- 
l'actures ; influence upon comfort, habits, and civilization of mankind. 

3. Who are our neighbors : in a literal sense ; in the Scriptural sense ; 

who taught us this ; in what parable ; what gave rise to it; the circum¬ 
stances of the parable ; the practical lessons which it teaches. , 

SECTION VI. 

expression of ideas ( continued ). 

Let the pupil write from memory the substance of 
the lessons read in the class, expressing the ideas in 
sentences of his own construction and arrangement * 

SECTION VII. 

expression of ideas ( continued ). 

Let the pupil write from memory the substance of 
what has been told or read by the teacher, or of lec¬ 
tures or sermons which he may have heard, express¬ 
ing the ideas in sentences of his own construction 
and arrangement.! ^ 

* The exercises under this and the following section are necessarily left 
tp the teacher. 

t The teacher will find it of great use, in teaching his pupils fluency 
of expression, to make them do orally what they are required to do is 
writing in the two preceding sections. , 




ON STYLE AND FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

OF LANGUAGE, AND ITS ORIGIN. 

Q- By what is man chiefly distinguished from the brute crea¬ 
tion ? 

A. By his powers of reflection and reason, and his 
great susceptibility of improvement. 

Q. On what do these mainly depend? 

A. On his being farther distinguished by the use of 
speech or language. 

Q. What do you understand by speech or language ? 

A. Those sounds of the voice by which we express 
our thoughts or ideas. 

Q. What is supposed to have been the origin of language ? 

A. It is supposed by some to be the fruit of human 
invention; but the more common opinion is, that it 
was a Divine gift, bestowed upon man at his creation. 
(See note.) 

Q. Under what different aspects may language be considered ? 

A. As a medium of thought, it may be regarded 
either as spoken or written. 

Q. What is the difference between spoken and written lan¬ 
guage? 

A. Spoken language constitutes the immediate 
signs of our ideas; while written language forms 
merely the signs of spoken language. 

Q. In what does a knowledge of written language consist ? 

A. In being able to convert it into spoken language, 
so as to know the ideas which it is intended to rep¬ 
resent. 

Q. Is written language of as high antiquity as spoken language ? 

A. That can hardly be supposed, as men would no 
doubt long enjoy the power of speech before they 
would attempt giving permanency to their thoughts 
by means of writing. 

D 



38 


ALPHABETIC WRITING. [PART II. 

[For able arguments to show that Adam at his creation was endowed 
with a knowledge of language, and prepared to use it in thought and 
speech, consult Dr. Magee on Atonement, and Dr. Spring on the “ Obliga¬ 
tions of the World to the Bible.”] 


CHAPTER II. 

OF ALPHABETIC WRITING. 

Q. What is the simplest and most effectual means of preserv¬ 
ing our thoughts ? 

A. The adoption of certain signs to represent the 
various sounds of the human voice. 

Q. What name is given to this method of preserving and trans¬ 
mitting thought ? 

A. It is called alphabetic writing, and, next to rea¬ 
son and speech, is one of the greatest blessings that 
mankind possess. 

Q. Is any thing known with certainty respecting the origin of 
alphabetic writing ? 

A. The remoteness of its origin has caused it to be 
buried in great obscurity, and many have even doubt¬ 
ed its being a Jiuman invention.—(See Dr. Spring's 
Lectures.) 

Q. What alphabet is supposed to be the most ancient ? 

A. The Hebrew, or Samaritan, which is sometimes 
called the Phoenician. 

Q. What chiefly gives rise to this supposition ? 

A, The circumstance of its being the earliest alpha¬ 
bet of which we have any certain account, as well 
as the source whence almost all known alphabets 
have been derived. 

Q. How did this alphabet find its way to other countries ? 

A. It was, about 1000 years before Christ, import¬ 
ed into Greece by one Cadmus, a Phoenician; from 
Greece it passed into Italy; and from Italy it has 
spread over the most of the civilized world. 

Q. Was there ever any other mode of transmitting thought be¬ 
sides that of alphabetic writing ? 

A. Yes; there prevailed, at one time, picture and 
symbolic writing, the latter called hieroglyphics. 

Q. In what did picture writing consist ? 

A. In drawing a figure resembling the object re¬ 
specting which some information was to be impart- 



OF ANCIENT WRITING. 


PART II.] 


89 


ed; as two men with drawn daggers, to denote a 
battle. 

Q. In what did symbolic writing, or hieroglyphics, consist ? 

A. In making one thing serve to represent another; 
as, an eye to denote knowledge ; and a circle to denote 
eternity. 

Q. By whom have these two methods of writing been chiefly 
practised ? 

A. Picture writing has been practised by many ruda 
nations, but particularly by the Mexicans, prior to the 
discovery of America; and hieroglyphics, principally 
by the ancient Egyptians. 

[.Note. —For an interesting course of argument, to show that alphabetic 
characters were most probably invented by God himself, as an instrument 
of his written revelation to man, and that he first presented them oh 
Mount Sinai to Moses, on the tables of stone, “written by the finget of 
God,” see the able work of Dr. Spring, referred to in a former note.] 


CHAPTER' III. 

OF THE MATERIALS ANCIENTLY USED IN WRITING, ETC. 

Q. What was for some time the peculiar character of writing T 

A. It was for a long time a species of engraving, 
and was executed chiefly on pillars and tablets of 
stone. 

Q. What substances came next into use ? 

A. Thin plates of the softer metals, such as lead; 
and then, as writing became more common, lighter 
substances, as the leaves and bark of certain trees, or 
thin boards covered with wax. 

Q. What proof is there of the bark of trees having been thus 
used? ' 

A. The same word which, in many languages, de¬ 
notes a book, denotes also a tree, or the bark of a 
tree ; as, the word liber in Latin, which means either 
the bark of a tree or a book. 

Q. What was the next step in the progress of writing ? 

A. The manufacture of a substance called papyrus, 
which was prepared from a reed of the same name, 
that grew in great abundance on the banks of the Nile. 

Q Were not the skins of animals often used for writing upon ? 

' A. Yes; and it is said to have been during a great 



40 


FORMER SCARCITY OF BOOKS. [PART II. 

scarcity of the Egyptian papyrus that the important 
art of making skins into parchment was discovered. . 

Q. Where and about what time did this happen ? 

A. In Pergamus, a city of Asia Minor; but at what 
time is rather uncertain. 

Q. How long did parchment and papyrus continue principally 
in use ? 

A. Down to about the beginning of the fourteenth 
century, when the superior substance of paper was 
invented. 

Q. In what manner did some of the ancients write their char¬ 
acters in forming words ? 

A. The Assyrians, the Phoenicians, and the He¬ 
brews, wrote from right to left, as did also the Greeks 
for some time. 

Q. Did the Greeks abandon this plan all at once ? 

A. No; for, in making a change, they first adopted 
the plan of writing from right to left, and from left to 
right, alternately; and, at length, the more convenient 
mode, which at present prevails, of writing solely 
from left to right. 

Q. What name was given to this mode of writing from right to 
left, and from left to right, alternately ? 

A. It was called boustrophedon, because it resembled 
the turning of oxen at the end of the ridges in the op¬ 
eration of ploughing. 


CHAPTER IY. 

OF THE SCARCITY OF BOOKS IN FORMER TIMES. 

Q. Were books always as abundant as they are at present? 

A. Far from it; for, at no very remote period, they 
were so scarce as to be m the hands of only the 
wealthy and the noble; and a very few volumes would 
then have brought a price eqml to the purchase of a 
good estate. 

Q. To what was the scarcity of book, in ancient times to b& 
ascribed ? 

A. To the great labor and expenre cf con vng ryr 
transcribing them, which rendered eveyroov 
as costly as the first. 

Q. What was the consequence of this scarcity ? 



COMPOSITION. 


41 


PART II.] 

A. A great deficiency of learning among all except 
the wealthier classes of society, as no others pos¬ 
sessed the means of purchasing books. 

Q. To what is the great abundance of books now owing? 

A. To the invention of printing, which happened 
early in the fifteenth century. 

Q. Where and by whom did this take place ? 

A. The cities of Strasburg, Haarlem, and Mentz, 
have all preferred their claim to this distinguished 
honor; and Coster, Faustus, Schoeffer, and Guttem- 
berg, have all been named as the inventors. 

Q. What is the cause of such uncertainty ? 

A. It probably is, that the inventor in this case, as 
in many others, has been frequently confounded with 
the improver. 

What benefits has the invention of printing produced ? 

A. It has multiplied books, cheapened knowledge, 
and given an entirely new aspect to society. 


CHAPTER V. 

OF COMPOSITION. 

Q. What do you understand by the term composition as ap¬ 
plied to language ? 

A. The clear, accurate, and forcible expression of 
our thoughts and opinions in writing. 

Q. Is the term ever employed in any other sense 

A. It is frequently used in reference to music, paint¬ 
ing, and architecture, or to any material mixture, as 
well as to writing. 

Q. What is the origin and strict meaning of the word 

A. It is formed from the two Latin words con, to¬ 
gether, and positio, a placing, and literally means a 
placing together. 

Q. How comes it from this definition to possess its present 
signification ? 

A. Because in composition we place words together 
for the purpose of expressing our thoughts and ideas. 

Q\ Is composition an important acquirement t 

A. Perhaps the most so of any, as upon it mainly 
depend the spread of knowledge and the enlighten¬ 
ing of the world. 

D 2 



42 


GENIUS. 


[part II. 


Q. Has it any other advantages ? 

A. It is a source of very refined pleasure and of 
much mental improvement, to those who practise it. 

Q. What are the requisites for attaining accuracy in composi 
tion? 

A. A thorough knowledge of grammar, and of the 
Signification of wo-ds—a careful study of the struct¬ 
ure of our language in the perusal of the best authors 
—and a habit of comparing our own mode of express¬ 
ing thought with that which is usually employed by 
good writers and speakers. 

Q. What effect has close attention to one’s manner of speaking 
and writing upon his own mind ? 

A. It tends to produce close and accurate thinking, 
for thought and speech mutually assist each other. 

Q. What are the requisites for attaining great eminence in 
composition ? 

A. Next to study, already mentioned, the greatest 
requisites are, genius and taste. 

Q. What are the requisites for attaining facility in composition ? 

A. Considerable practice in original composition. 


CHAPTER VI. 

OF GENIUS. 

Q. What do you mean by genius ? 

A. Some considerable degree of mental power or 
superiority, or a person possessing these. 

Q. Can you recollect any other signification that it has ? 

A. It is frequently used to denote a particular bias 
or bent of the mind toward any pursuit, art, or sci¬ 
ence ; as when we say, such a one has a genius for 
music, for painting, for mathematics, &c. 

Q. But what is the strict import of the term ? 

A. When properly applied, it denotes that particu¬ 
lar faculty of the mind, by which a man is enabled to 
invent, or discover, or at least produce, something new. 

Q. Can you mention any whom you would consider men of 
genius, in this sense of the term ? 

A. Archimedes, Newton, Franklin, and Watt, were 
inen of this class, because they were distinguished 
both for their inventions and discoveries. 



PART II.] TASTE. 43 

Q. When is it that an author may be considered a man of 
genius ? 

A. When he gives birth to new trains or combina¬ 
tions of thought, or produces some original piece of 
composition. 

Q. What do you mean by original composition ? 

A. Composition which combines the distinguished 
quality of great excellence, with its not being an imi¬ 
tation of any previous production. 

Q. Are these qualities very common ? 

A. Far from it; as it is only once or so in an ag 
that they make their appearance. 

Q. Can you mention any authors whose writings entitle them 
to be called men of genius ? , 

A. Homer and Virgil in ancient, and Shakspeare, 
Milton, Bacon, Bunyan, and Johnson, in modern times. 


CHAPTER VII. 

OF TASTE. 

Q. What do you mean by taste ? 

A. That faculty by which we are enabled to per 
ceive and relish the beauties of composition. In a 
more general sense, it is a name for that faculty, or 
for those faculties, which fit us for receiving pleasure 
from what is beautiful, elegant, or excellent, in the 
works of Nature and art. He who derives no pleas¬ 
ure from such elegance, excellence, or beauty, is said 
to be a man of no taste; he who is gratified with that 
which is faulty in works of art, is a man of bad taste; 
and he who is pleased or displeased, according to the 
degree of excellence or faultiness, is a man of good 
taste. 

Q. What faculties or talents does good taste imply? 

A. (1.) A lively imagination —by which a man is 
qualified for readily apprehending the meaning of an 
author or artist, tracing out the connection of his 
thoughts, and forming the same views of things which 
he has formed. Yet the man who is unacquainted 
with Nature can never be a man of taste, because he 
can not know whether the production of art resemble 



44 TASTE. [PART II. 

Nature or not; and if he know not this, he can receive 
from the imitative arts no real satisfaction. 

(2.) Another quality necessary to good taste, is a 
clear and distinct apprehension of things. 

(3.) To this must be added a quick perception of, 
or a capacity of being easily and pleasurably affected 
with, those objects that gratify the secondary senses, 
particularly sublimity,beauty, harmony, and imitation. 
The term secondary senses, by some called internal 
senses, and by others emotions, have thus been 
described by Dr. Beattie, to whom chiefly we are 
indebted for this article. We perceive colors and 
figures by the eye ; we also perceive that some colors 
and figures are beautiful , and others not. This power 
of perceiving beauty, which the brutes have not, 
though they see as well as we, I call a secondary 
sense. We perceive sounds by the ear; we also 
perceive that certain combinations of sound have 
harmony , and that others are dissonant. This power 
of perceiving harmony, called in common language a 
musical ear, is another secondary sense, which the 
brutes have not, and of which many men who hear 
well enough are utterly destitute. Of these second¬ 
ary senses there are many in the human constitution, 
among others those of novelty, sublimity, beauty, 
imitation, harmony, and ridicule, which, together 
with sympathy, form what is called good taste. The 
pleasures received from the secondary senses are, 
by Addison and Akenside, called pleasures of imagina¬ 
tion. 

The only way of improving the secondary senses is by 
studying Nature and the best performances in art; by 
cultivating habits of virtue ; and by keeping at a dis¬ 
tance from every thing gross and indelicate, in books 
and conversation, in manners and in language. 

(4.) The next thing necessary to good taste is sym¬ 
pathy , by which, supposing ourselves in the condition 
of other men, we readily adopt their sentiments and 
feelings, and make them, as it were, our own; and so 
receive from them some degree of that pain or pleas- 
d it which they would bring along with them if they 


TASTE. 


45 


PART II.] 

were really our own. Without this moral sensibility 
our minds would not be open to receive those emo¬ 
tions of pity, joy, admiration, sorrow, and imaginary 
terror, which the best performances in the fine arts, 
particularly in poetry, are intended to raise within us ; 
nor, by consequence, could we form a right estimate 
of the abilities of the author, or of the tendency and 
importance of his work. 

The last thing requisite to form good taste is judg¬ 
ment, or good sense, which is indeed the principal 
thing, and may, without much impropriety, be said to 
comprehend all the rest. Without this we could not 
compare the imitations of Nature with Nature itself, 
so as to perceive how far they agree or differ; nor 
could we judge of the probability of events in a fable, 
or of the truth of sentiments; nor whether the plan 
of a work be according to rule or otherwise. 

It might also have been stated, that as virtue is the 
perfection of beauty, the love of virtue is essential to 
true taste. 

Q. What is the chief peculiarity of this faculty ? 

A. Its great susceptibility of improvement when 
regularly and judiciously exercised. 

Q. What are the chief means of improving it ? 

A. The study of the best authors, and attention to 
all the finest models and specimens of composition. 

Q. What are the chief characteristics of taste ? 

A. Delicacy and correctness; the one, however, to 
a certain degree implying the other, though not pre¬ 
cisely the same. 

Q. In what does delicacy of taste chiefly consist ? 

A. In a quick and accurate perception of all the 
finer and less obvious beauties of any performance. 

Q. In what does correctness consist ? 

A. In a ready detection of false ornament, and a 
due appreciation of all the more substantial qualities 
of a literary work. 

Q. Are both attributable to the same source ? 

A. Delicacy of taste is chiefly founded on feeling, 
and is more a gift of nature : correctness depends 
principally upon cultivation, and is more allied to 
reason and judgment. 


4b 


BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. [PART II. 

Q. Is taste ever employed upon any thing besides language ? 
A. Yes; it may be employed upon all sorts of ob 
jects, whether the product of nature or of art. 

Q. With what sort of objects is taste chiefly conversant? 

A. Those chiefly which are distinguished for their 
beauty or sublimity. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OF BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. 

Q. What do you understand by beauty ? 

A. An assemblage of properties which renders cer¬ 
tain objects of perception highly agreeable. 

Q. On what properties does beauty chiefly depend ? 

A. On shape, color, or the quality of fitness and 
utility. That which in the smallest compass exhibits 
the greatest variety of beauty, is a fine human face. 
It embraces variety, uniformity, proportion, conveni¬ 
ence, colors, delicacy, and the expression of moral and 
intellectual virtues. Human beauty , therefore, at least 
that of the face, is not merely a corporeal quality, but 
derives its origin and essential characters from the 
soul; and almost any person may, in some degree, 
acquire it who is at pains to improve his understanding, 
to repress criminal thoughts, and to cherish good af¬ 
fections ; as every one must lose it, whatever features 
or complexion there may be to boast of, who leaves 
the mind uncultivated, or a prey to evil passions, or a 
slave to trifling pursuits. 

Q. What is sublimity ?. 

A. That quality in objects which, when they are 
contemplated, excites in the mind sentiments of awe 
and grandeur; makes us conscious of something like 
an expansion or elevation of our faculties, as if we 
were exerting our whole capacity to comprehend the 
vastness of the object. 

Q. On what does the feeling of sublimity chiefly depend ? 

A. On a perception of immense extent, whether of 
space, duration, or numbers, and of great power and 
energy. 



I 


PART II.J BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. 47 

Q. Can you give an example of objects remarkable for their 
sublimity l 

A. The Deity ; the source of happiness and the 
standard of perfection; who creates, preserves, per¬ 
vades, and governs all things ; whose power is unlim¬ 
ited, whose wisdom is perfect, whose goodness is 
without bounds, whose greatness is incomprehensi¬ 
ble ; who was from all eternity, and of whose domin¬ 
ion there can be no end: he is undoubtedly, and be¬ 
yond all comparison, tne most sublime object which 
it is possible to conceive or to contemplate; and 
of all created sublimity, his works exhibit the most 
perfect and most astonishing examples. Such are 
the cloudless or starry sky—the troubled ocean—a 
majestic river—a deafening cataract—a lofty mount¬ 
ain—volcanoes—earthquakes—the solar system—the 
universe. 

Q. What, probably, was the design of our Creator in bestowing 
upon us a capacity for deriving pleasure from great and sublime 
objects ? 

A. It was, to raise our minds above the present 
world, and to prepare us for the contemplation of the 
Divine nature, and of the works of creation and Prov¬ 
idence, which will, no doubt, constitute the supreme 
and final felicity of the good. 

Our taste for the sublime , cherished into a habit and 
directed to proper objects, may , therefore, promote our 
moral improvement , by leading us to contemplate the 
Creator in his wonderful works ; by keeping us at a 
distance from vice, which is the vilest of all things, 
and by recommending v;rtue for its intrinsic dignity 
and loveliness. 

Q. What gives occasion to the emotion of moral beauty and sub¬ 
limity ? 

A. The emotion of moral beauty arises where we 
observe a coincidence between the sense of duty and 
certain inferior principles of action. The emotion of 
moral sublimity is awakened when the sense of duty 
is opposed by inclination or affection, or by any or 
all the inferior principles of action, and triumphs over 
them. Its principle consists in a power of self-control 
and of self-sacrifice, in those cases in which they are 
difficult. 


48 BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. [ PART Ir * 

Q. Can you illustrate these remarks by an example ? 

A. The conduct of that young man, who labors 
hard and denies himself that he may support an 
aged mother, or add to her comfort, is highly beauti¬ 
ful ; but natural affection co-operates with a sense of 
duty, and, therefore, it is not sublime. The act of our 
Savior upon the cross, of remembering his mother 
and providing for her wants, was beautiful — how 
beautiful! His prayer for his murderers was sublime. 
It is, in general, acts of tenderness, gentleness, con¬ 
descension, pity, gratitude, humanity, that are beau¬ 
tiful ; while it is, on the other hand, acts of magna¬ 
nimity, of fortitude, of inflexible justice, of high pa¬ 
triotism, and, on proper occasions, of contempt of dan¬ 
ger and of death, that are sublime. Hence we see 
whydt is that periods of difficulty, and oppression, and 
persecution, are favorable to the exhibition of the mor¬ 
al sublime. Such was the Reformation under Luther. 

For an admirable view of this and kindred topics, 
you may consult two lectures by President Hopkins, 
on the “ Connection between Taste and Morals,” 
whence we have copied freely in this article. 

Q. Is the sense of the beautiful a part of our nature? 

A. It is as really so as the sense of the true or of 
the right, and “ the forms, and shades, and groups of 
thought,” that are fitted to produce the emotion of 
beauty in us, are as diversified as the sights or sounds 
which supply the ever-changing pleasures of the eye 
and the ear. 

Q. How is this sense of the beautiful to be improved ? 

A. “ It would seem,” says Professor Hadduck, 
“ that the sense of beauty of which we are made ca¬ 
pable by nature, is developed in the mind by exercise; 
and though, like other powers, it may be conferred on 
men in different degrees, is always nourished and ma¬ 
tured by its appropriate aliment — The Beautiful. 
It is strengthened by being indulged. It is called out 
by being appealed to ; and the aid which theory and 
criticism afford in its cultivation, is merely to point 
out and supply appropriate objects—the natural occa¬ 
sions for its exercise.” 


49 


PART II.] BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. 

Q. What do you mean by beauty of language ? 

A. That quality which it possesses, when it may 
be read or listened to with a high degree of pleasure. 

Q. And what is sublimity in language ? 

A. That quality which it possesses, when it excites 
in the mind of the reader or hearer, grand and exalted 
notions of the objects described. 

Q. What sort of language may be said to be most in accordance 
with correct taste ? 

A . That in which beauty and sublimity are both 
conspicuous, the one quality serving to shed lustre 
upon the other. 

Q. Can you give examples of the beauty of language ? 

A. The following are from the “ Poetry of Life,” 
by Mrs. Ellis: 

“ There is poetry in the low-roofed cottage standing on the 
skirts of the wood, beneath the overshadowing oak, around which 
the children of many generations have gamboled, while the 
wreathing smoke coils up among the dark green foliage, and the 
gray thatch is contrasted'with golden moss and glittering ivy. 
We stand and gaze, delighted with this picture of rural peace 
and privileged seclusion. We long to shake off' the shackles of 
artificial society, the wearying cares of life, the imperative control 
of fashion, or the toil and traffic of the busy world, and to dwell, 
for the remainder of our days, in a quiet spot like this, where affec¬ 
tion, that is too often lost in the game of life, might unfold her store 
of fireside comforts, and where we and ours might constitute one 
unbroken chain of social fellowship, under the shelter of serenity 
and peace.” 

“ Nature is full of poetry, from the high mountain to the shel¬ 
tered valley, from the bleak promontory to the myrtle grove, from 
the star-lit heavens to the slumbering earth.” 

Speaking of a modem poet, Mrs. Ellis beautifully 
observes, 

“ His charmed numbers flow on like the free current of a me¬ 
lodious stream, whose associations are with the sunbeams and 
the shadows, the leafy boughs, the song of the forest birds, the 
dew upon the flowery bank, and all things sweet, and genial, and 
delightful, whose influence is around us in our happiest moments, 
and whose essence is the wealth that lies hoarded in the treasury 
of nature.” 

To exhibit the justness of the above criticism, are 
quoted the following among other fine specimens ■ 

E 


50 


BEAUTY AND SUBLIMITY. [PART II. 

“ 1 saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 

A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on ; 

I came when the sun o’er that beach was declining, 

The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.” 

“ Seldom, indeed, had Athens witnessed such a scene. The 
ground that formed the original site of the garden had from time 
to time received continual additions; and the whole extent was 
laid out with that perfect taste, which knows how to wed Nature 
with Art, without sacrificing her simplicity to the alliance. Walks 
leading through wildernesses of shade and fragrance — glades 
opening, as if to afford a pleasure-ground for the sunshine—tem¬ 
ples, rising on the very spots where Imagination herself would 
have called them up—and fountains and lakes, in alternate mo¬ 
tion and repose, either wantonly courting the verdure, or calmly 
sleeping in its embrace : such was the variety of feature that di¬ 
versified these fair gardens ; and animated, as they were on this 
occasion, by the living wit and loveliness of Athens, it afforded a 
scene such as my own youthful fancy, rich as it was then in im¬ 
ages of luxury and beauty, could hardly have anticipated.” 

THE SUBLIME IN WRITING. 

For the best and most perfect examples of this, 
the Bible must be consulted. In its very first chapter, 
how sublime is the declaration^ “ God said, Let there 
*he light, and there was light!” 

Read, also, portions of the Psalms of David—the 
book of Job, and the prophecies of Isaiah, and others. 
These may be referred to again in the chapter on 
the Poetry of the Bible, which will deserve particular 
study. 

Milton, Young, Pollok, and other poets, abound in 
fine examples of the sublime. Dr. Chalmers excels 
among prose writers. 

Dr. Young thus addresses Night: 

“ Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, 

In rayless majesty now stretches forth 
Her leaden sceptre o’er a slumbering world. 

Silence how dread! and darkness how profound > 

Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds; 

Creation sleeps ! • ’Tis as the general pulse 
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause 
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.” 

Q. When is poetry sublime ? 

A. (I.) When it elevates the mind, and makes it, 
as it were, superior to the cares and troubles of this 


PART II.] STYLE AND IDIOM. 


51 


world : (2.) when it infuses any sublime affection, as 
devoted piety, universal benevolence, the love of vir¬ 
tue and of our country : (3.) when it affects the mind 
with an awful and imaginary, but not unpleasing hor¬ 
ror : (4.) when it describes the sentiments or actions 
©f those persons whose character is very elevated, 
and (5.) when it conveys a lively idea of any grand 
appearance, natural, artificial, or imaginary. 

Q. W{iat is properly termed a sublime style'{ 

A. That which makes us readily conceive any great 
object or sentiment in a lively manner; and this is 
often done when the words are very plain and simple. 
When bold figures and high-sounding expressions 
are employed without a corresponding elevation of 
thought, they become ridiculous, and are called bom¬ 
bast , or false sublime. 


CHAPTER IX 

OF STYLE AND IDIOM. 

Q. What do you understand by Style as applied to writing ? 

A. The particular manner in which a writer or 
SDeaker expresses his thoughts by means of language. 

Q. From what is the word style derived ? 

A. From the Latin word stylus , a pointed steel in¬ 
strument, with which the ancients used to write upon 
their waxen boards and tablets. 

Q. Is there much diversity of style among men ? 

A. Very great; as almost every writer has a style 
or manner peculiar to himself; though in some this is 
more marked and striking than in others. 

Q. On what does this diversity of style depend ? 

A. Partly on mental constitution; partly on the 
nature and quality of the education which a person 
may have received. 

Q. Who are the men that are most distinguished by peculiarity 
of style ? 

A. Those, generally, of greatest genius, greatest 
vigor of mind, or of highest mental cultivation. 

Q. Can you state the difference between style and idiom ? 

A. Style is characteristic of different writers ; idiom 



52 DIFFERENT KINDS OF STYLE. [PART II. 

of different languages : hence we speak of the style 
of Addison, but of the idiom of the English language. 
Q. What do you consider, then, the true import of idiom ? 

A. That peculiarity in the mode of expression, and 
arrangement of words, which distinguishes one lan¬ 
guage from another. 

Q. Do languages differ much in point of idiom ? 

A. Very considerably; modes of expression and 
arrangement appearing quite proper in one, which 
would be harsh and uncouth in another. 


CHAPTER X. 

OF DIFFERENT KINDS OF STYLE. 

Q. Can you mention any of the different qualities of style ? 

A. The strong, the weak, the simple, the florid, the 
concise, the diffuse. 

Q. What do you mean by a strong or vigorous style ? 

A. A style that makes a deep and powerful impres¬ 
sion upon the mind of the hearer or reader. 

Q. And what by a weak or feeble style ? 

A. A style that has little power of arresting the 
attention, or exciting the feelings of the reader or 
hearer. 

Q. Can you express your opinion of a simple style ? 

A. Simple style is that in which there is little appa¬ 
rent labor, and no attempt at any thing but merely to 
be understood. 

Q. And what do you mean by a florid style ? 

A. Style in which there is great profusion of orna¬ 
ment, and an obvious desire to produce effect. 

Q. What have you to say of the concise style ? 

A. It is the style which a writer or speaker uses, 
who expresses his thoughts in very few words. 

Q. Ana what of the diffuse ? 

A. Diffuse style is that which persons employ, whc 
express themselves very fully, and dwell long on the 
same thoughts. 

Q. Are there any more qualities of style ? 

A. Yes ; but it is impossible to enumerate them all, 
for they are as diversified as the characters of men’s 



PERSPICUITY. 


PART II.] 


53 


minds, and the occasions on which they require to 
speak or write 1 

Q. What do you mean by a natural style ? 

A. A style in strict accordance with the rules and 
principles of the language, in which a person speaks 
or writes, and such as one, deeply impressed with his 
subject, uses without apparent effort or labor. 

Q. What is a bombastic style ? 

A. A style in which great swelling words are em¬ 
ployed to express common thoughts. 

Q. When should one kind of style be used in preference to 
another ? 

A. That depends entirely upon the nature of the 
subject, as well as the occasion on which a person 
may be called to speak or write. 

[ Note .—For examples of different kinds of style, let the scholar be re¬ 
quested to make selections from books or periodicals: Mrs. Tuthill’s “ Young 
Ladies’ Reader” is a valuable book of reference.] 


CHAPTER XI. 

OF PERSPICUITY. 

Q. What do you conceive to be the greatest excellence of style 
co whatever class it belongs ? 

A. Perspicuity, or that quality which enables us to 
see at once an author’s meaning, and renders it im¬ 
possible for us to misunderstand it. 

Q. What quality stands next to perspicuity in importance ? 

A. Ornament, or elegance, which, joined with per¬ 
spicuity, forms the highest excellence that style can 
possess. 

Q. What renders perspicuity so essential in style ? 

A. The circumstance of its being necessary that 
composition should be easily understood; for without 
this no other quality is of any value. 

Q. On what does perspicuity depend ? 

A. Partly on the choice of words, and partly on 
their structure in sentences. 

Q. What are the chief things to be attended to in the choice of 
words ? 

A. Purity, Propriety, and Precision. 

E 2 



54 PURITY. [PART II. 

Q. What arrangement of words, or structure tff sentences, do 
you think best ? 

A. That, whatever it may be, which is best fitted to 
express the meaning intended to be conveyed. 


CHAPTER XII. 

OF PURITY. 

Q. What do you mean by Purity of style ? 

A. The use of such words and modes of expression 
as are perfectly English, and warranted by good au¬ 
thority. 

Q. What do you consider a violation of purity ? 

A. The use of such words as are either foreign to 
the language, or have become antiquated by disuse. 

Q. Can you give an example of the violation of purity in respect 
of foreign words ? 

A. Fraicheur, for coolness ; fougue , for turbulence ; 
politesse, for politeness, are examples of French words 
used instead of English. 

Q. Can you give an example of the latter species of violation 
of purity ? 

A. Behest , for command; erst , for formerly; and 
sith , for since, are now of this class, though they were 
once in common use. 

Q. What is the standard of purity ? 

A. The practice and authority of the* best speakers 
and writers. 

Q. Are words much subject to change ? 

A. Almost as much so as any thing connected with 
human affairs. 

Q. In what manner do they suffer these changes ? 

A. On some occasions they change their significa¬ 
tion ; as, let once signified to hinder; on others they 
drop out of use, or become obsolete; as, strook, which 
once was used instead of struck. 

Q. In what does purity of construction consist ? 

A. In the arranging of words in a sentence accord¬ 
ing to the English idiom, or mode of expression. 

Q. Can you give any examples of the violation of this principle? 

A. “ He will repent himself of such conduct,” is a 
French, not an English mode of expression. 



PURITY, 


55 


PART II.] 

Q. How would you correct this ? 

A. By leaving out the word himself \ 

Q. Are all writers alike restricted in the use of words ? 

*4. All writers are restricted to a certain degree; 
but poets take, and are allowed much greater liberties 
in this respect than prose writers. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. “The sunset of life gives me mystical lore 
here the word lore is an antiquated word, denoting 
learning, and would hardly be tolerated in any tiling 
but poetry. 

Q. Will you endeavor to correct the following violations of 
purity? He stroamed idly about the fields. He was certainly 
an extra genius. They showed too much hauteur. 

A. He roamed idly, &c. He was certainly an un¬ 
common genius. They showed too much haughtiness. 

EXERCISES. 

I. Correct the grammatical errors in the following 
sentences : 

1. A variety of pleasing objects cbarm the eye. 

2. If the privileges to which he has an undoubted right, and has so long 
enjoyed, should now be wrested from him, would be flagrant injustice. 

3. The religion of these people, as well as their customs and manners, 
were strangely misrepresented. 

4. Whether one person or more was concerned in the business, does not 
yet appear. 

5. The mind of man can not be long without some food to nourish tha 
activity of his thoughts. 

6. They ought to have contributed the same proportion as U3, yet we 
gave a third more than them. 

7. Who should I meet the other evening but my old friend. 

8. Those sort of favors do real injury under the appearance of kindness 

9. I saw one or more persons enter the garden. 

10. Every person, whatever be their station, is bound by the duties of 
morality and religion. 

11. The conspiracy was tha easier discovered from its being known to 
many. 

12. The pleasures of the understanding are more preferable than those 
of the senses. 

13. Eve was the fairest of all her daughters. 

14. I can not tell who has befriended me, unless it is him from whom I 
nave received so many favors. 

15. The confession is ingenuous, and I hope more from thee now than 
I could if you had promised. 

16. Each of these words imply some pursuit or object relinquished. 

17. No nation gives greater encouragement to learning than we do; yet, 
at the same time, none are so injudicious in the application. 

18. I should be obliged to him if he will gratify me in that particular. 

19. We have done no more than it was our duty to have done. 

20. His vices have weakened his mind, and broke bis health. 

21 They could not persuado him, though they were never so eloquent. 


56 


PROPRIETY. 


[part II. 


22. We need not, nor do not, limit the divine purposes. 

23. He is resolved of going abroad. 

24. He was accused with having acted unfairly. 

25. The wisest princes need not think it any diminution to their great¬ 
ness, or derogation to their sufficiency, to rely upon counsel.* 

II. Correct the errors in the use of foreign, obsolete, 
or new-coined words and phrases, in the following 
sentences : 

1. The popular lords did not fail to enlarge themselves on the subject. 

2. The queen, whom it highly imported that the two monarclis should 
be at peace, acted the part of mediator. 

3. All these things required abundance of finesse and delicatesse to 
manage with advantage, as well as a strict observance of times and sea¬ 
sons. 

4. The hauteur of Florio was very disgracious, and disgusted both his 
friends and strangers. 

5. When I made some a propos remarks upon his conduct, he began to 
quiz me : but he had as lief let it alone. 

6. They thought it an important subject, and the question was strenu¬ 
ously debated pro and con. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

OP PROPRIETY. 

Q. What do you mean by Propriety as applied to style T 

A. The selection of such words as are best adapted 
to express the meaning intended to be conveyed. 

Q. What is the first rule to be observed with regard to pro¬ 
priety ? 

A. Avoid such words and expressions as are low 
and vulgar, or tend to excite mean conceptions: as, 
to see a thing with half an eye; to get into a scrape ; 
which should be, to see a thing at a glance; to get 
into a difficulty. 

Q. What is the second rule ? 

A. In writing prose, we should reject such words 
as belong entirely to the province of poetry; as, morn, 
for morning ; eve, for evening ; lone , for lonely. 

Q. What is the rule next to be observed ? 

A. We should avoid technical terms, or terms pe¬ 
culiar to some particular art or profession, unless when 
writing to persons who understand them; as, we tacked 

* If his pupils have not been thoroughly instructed in grammar, the 
teacher may revert to the rules of syntax, on which he wil^find abundance 
of exercises in all the ordinary text-books. 



PROPRIETY. 


PART II.] 


57 


to the larboard; we may construct the shelves without 
haffets. 

Q,. What is the next rule ? 

A. It is, not to use the same word too often, or in 
different senses; as, “ The king communicated his in¬ 
tention to the minister, who disclosed it to the secre¬ 
tary, who made it known to the public.” “ His own 
reason might have suggested better reasons .” 

Q. How would you rectify these sentences ? 

A. Thus: “The king communicated his intention 
to the minister, who disclosed it to the secretary, and 
the secretary made it known to the public.” “ His 
Own judgment might have suggested better reasons.” 

Q. What is the next rule to be attended to ? 

A . All words that are necessary to complete the 
sense ought to be supplied; thus, instead of “ This ac- 
ion increased his former services;” we should say. 

This action increased the merit of his former ser¬ 
vices.” * 

Q. What rule have you next to give ? 

A. Avoid all equivocal or ambiguous expressions. 

Q. What do you mean by equivocal or ambiguous expressions ? 

A. Such expressions as are either susceptible of a 
double or a doubtful meaning. 

Q. Can you give an example of this ? 

A. “ I can not find one of my books;” which may 
mean either that there is one of my books which I 
can not find, or that I can find none of them at all. 

Q. Have you any farther rule to give ? 

A. One, and but one; avoid unintelligible and incon¬ 
sistent words and phrases ;« as, “ I have but an opaque 
idea of the subject.” 

Q. What word ought to be used instead of opaque in this case ? 

A. The word confused or indistinct, which signifies 
not clear, while opaque means not fit to be seen 
through. 

Q. Can you point out the errors, and make the necessary cor¬ 
rections in the following sentences ? I had as lief say a thing 
after him as after another. I need say no more concerning tho 
drift of these letters. What is it but a sort of rack that forces 
men to say what they have no mind to ? These persons know 
not what to make of themselves.- Our friend does not hold long 
in one mind. 


58 


PROPRIETY, 


[part ri. 

A. I should like as well to say a thing after him as 
after another. I need say no more concerning the 
purport of these letters. What is it but a sort of rack 
that forces men to say what they wish to conceal, or 
do not wish to communicate 1 These persons know 
not how to employ their time. Our friend does not 
continue long in one opinion. 

EXERCISES. 

I. Correct the vulgar or technical expressions in the 
following sentences: 

1. He is not a whit better than those whom he so liberally condemns. 

2. The meaning of the phrase, as I take it, is very different from the 
common acceptation. 

3. I exposed myself so much among the people, that I had like to have 
gotten one or two broken heads. 

4. He is very dexterous in smelling out the views and designs of others. 

5. You may perceive, with half an eye, the difficulties to which such 
conduct will expose you. 

6. It fell out, unfortunately, that two of the principal persons fell out, 
and had a fatal quarrel. 

II. Supply the words which are necessary to make 
the sense complete in the following sentences : 

1. He is engaged in a treatise on the interests of the soul and body. 

2. Some productions of nature rise in value, according as they more or 

less resemble those of art. .» 

3. He is impressed with a true sense of that function, when chosen from 
a regard to the interests of piety and virtue. 

III. Correct the improper use of the same word in 
different senses, in the following sentences : 

1. An eloquent speaker may give more, but can not give more convincing 
arguments, than this plain man offered. 

2. They were persons of very moderate intellects, even before they were 
impaired by their passions. 

3. The sharks, who prey on the inadvertency of young heirs, are more 
pardonable than those, w r ho trespass upon the good opinion of those, who 
treat them with great confidence and respect. 

IV. Correct the equivocal or ambiguous expressions 
in the following sentences : 

1. When our friendship is considered, how is it possible that I should not 
grieve for his loss? 

2. ^The eagle killed the hen, and eat her in her own nest. 

3. Solomon, the son of David, who built the temple of Jerusalem, was 
the richest monarch that reigned over the Jewish people. 

4. The Divine Being heapeth favors on his servants, ever liberal and 
faithful. 

V. Correct or omit such words and phrases, in the 
following sentences, as are unintelligible, inapplica- 


PRECISION. 


PART II.] 


59 


ble, or less significant than others, of the ideas which 
they are intended to express : 

1. I seldom see a noble building, or any great piece of magnificence and 
pomp, but I think, how little is all this to satisfy the ambition, or to fill the 
idea, of an immortal soul. 

2. The attempt, however laudable, was found to be impracticable 

3. He is our mutual benefactor, and deserves our respect and obedience. 

4. Vivacity is often promoted by presenting a sensible object to the mind, 
instead of an intelligible one. 

5. It is difficult for him to speak three sentences together 

6. The negligence of timely precaution was the cause of this great loss. 

7. By proper reflection, we may be taught to mend what is erroneous 
and defective. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

OF PRECISION. 

Q. What do you mean by the term Precision ? 

A. The using of no more words to convey our mean¬ 
ing than the sense absolute^ requires. 

Q. To what does precision stand opposed? 

A. To that looseness and vagueness of style which 
arise from too great a multiplicity of words. 

Q. What tends most to produce precision ? 

A. Clear and accurate thinking. We must perfect¬ 
ly know our own meaning, and thoroughly understand 
the words we make use of. 

Q. What is the evil of employing too many words to express an 
idea? 

A. It distracts the attention of the reader or hearer, 
and prevents him from forming a correct conception 
of the subject under discussion. 

Q. Is want of precision a common error ? 

A. Perhaps the most so of any that can be named; 
as many, not content with one word to express an 
idea, are apt to subjoin another, which, conceiving it 
to be of the same import, will, they think, make the 
thought much plainer. 

Q. What is the best rule for avoiding this error ? 

A. Select the word that exactly expresses the idea 
intended to be communicated, and use that and no 
other for the purpose. 

Q. When is precision most apt to be violated ? 

A. In the use of what are called synonymous terms, 



PRECISION. 


60 


[part II. 


or words which are considered of the same significa¬ 
tion. 

Q. Are there any words perfectly synonymous ? 

A. On this point there is great difference of opinion, 
Dut many are reputed synonymous which are not so 
in reality. 

Q. Can you give an example of this? 

A. Courage and fortitude are generally deemed of 
the same import; but the difference between them is 
considerable. Courage braves danger, fortitude sup¬ 
ports pain. 

Q. Is precision alike necessary in all sorts of composition ? 

A. In all it is important; it is the very essence of 
poetry; but in novels and romances it is much less 
necessary, than in works which inculcate truth, or 
teach some art or science. * 

Q. Can you correct the following sentences in whjph precision 
has been disregarded? James desisted from, and renounced his 
designs. He abhorred and detested being in debt. This lady was 
a pattern of piety, virtue, and religion. 

A. James desisted from his designs. He detested 
being in debt. This lady was a pattern of piety and 
virtue. 


EXERCISES. 

I. Omit the superfluous expressions in the follow 
ing sentences: 

1. The human body may be divided into the head, trunk, limbs, and 
vitals. 

2. His end soon approached, and he died with great courage and fortitude. 

3. There can be no regularity or order in the life and conduct of that 
man, who does not give and allot a due share of his time to retirement and 
reflection. 

4. His cheerful, happy temper, remote from discontent, keeps up a kind 
of daylight in his mind, excludes every gloomy prospect, and fills it with a 
steady and perpetual serenity. 

II. Correct the tautology in the following sentences: 

1. The birds were clad in their brightest plumage, and the trees were 
clad in their richest verdure. 

2. The occurrence which the sentinel told the sergeant, he told the cap¬ 
tain, who told it to the general. 

3. Notwithstanding the rapidity with which time passes, men pass their 
lives in trifles and follies ; although reason and religion declare, that not a 
moment should pass without bringing something to pass. 

4. He used to use many expressions not usually used, and which are not 
generally in use. 

5. The writing which mankind first wrote, was first written on tables of 
etone. 


PERSPICUITY, 


61 


PART II. ] 

6. Our expectations are frequently disappointed, because we expect 
greater happiness from the future than experience authorizes us to expect. 

7. No learning that we have learned is generally so dearly bought, or so 
valuable when it is bought, as that which we have learned in the school of 
experience. 

III. Correct the following errors in the use of words 
^ommonly employed as synonymous : 

1. The secretary left the place of trust he held under government, gave 
up his party, quitted his parents in affliction, and deserted the kingdom 
forever. 

2. A patriot acknowledges his opposition to a corrupt ministry, and is 
applauded; a gentleman confesses his mistake, and is forgiven ; a prisoner 
avows the crime of which he stands accused, and is punished. 

3. A hermit is severe in his life ; a casuist rigorous in his application cf 
religion or law ; a judge austere in his sentences. 

4. The earl, being a man of extensive abilities, stored his mind with a 
variety of ideas ; which circumstance contributed to the successful exer¬ 
tion of his vigorous capacity. 

5. By the habit of walking often in the streets, one acquires a custom of 
idleness. 

6. Philip found an obstacle to managing the Athenians, on account of 
their natural dispositions ; but the eloquence of Demosthenes was the great 
difficulty in his designs. 

7. He is master of a complete house, which has not one entire apartment. 

8. An honest man will refrain from employing an ambiguous expression ; 
a confused man may often utter equivocal terms without design. 

9. This man, on all occasions, treated his inferiors with great haughti¬ 
ness and disdain. 

10. Galileo discovered the telescope ; Harvey invented the circulation of 
the blood. 

11. He is a child alone, havmg neither brother nor sister. 

12. A man may be too vain to be proud. 

13. The traveler observed the most striking objects he saw ; the general 
remarked all the motions of the enemy. 

14. I am amazed at what is new or unexpected ; confounded at what is 
vast or great; surprised at what is incomprehensible ; astonished by what 
is shocking or terrible. 

15. He died with violence ; for he was killed by a sword. 


CHAPTER XV. 

OF PERSPICUITY IN THE STRUCTURE OF SENTENCES. 

Q. What is the first requisite in the structure of sentences ? 

A. To be careful to make them neither too long nor 
too short; and not to have too many that are either 
very long or very short following in succession. 

Q. What is generally the effect of making sentences too long ? 

A. It tends to confuse and fatigue the reader or 
hearer, and consequently prevents him from distinct- 



CLEARNESS. 


62 


[part II. 


ly understanding, and feeling an interest in, what he 
hears or reads. 

Q. What is the consequence of making them too short ? 

A. It gives an appearance of abruptness and want 
of connection to the composition, and represents a 
subject too much in loose and detached portions. 

Q. How are both extremes best avoided ? 

A. By a due intermixture of long and short senten¬ 
ces, whether in speaking or writing. 

Q. What will be the effect of this ? 

A. It will be productive of that variety which sel¬ 
dom fails to please; and to be pleased is one of the 
first steps toward being instructed. 

Q. Under what heads do the more particular rules of this sub¬ 
ject come ? 

A. Under Clearness, Unity, Strength, Harmony, 
and a judicious use of the Figures of Speech. 

Q. Do not some of these more properly rank under beauty or 
ornament ? 

A. They all do so to a certain degree, but ornament 
depends more particularly upon harmony and a proper 
use of the figures of speech. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

OF CLEARNESS. 

Q. What do you understand by Clearness? 

A. Such an arrangement of the several words and 
members of a sentence as distinctly indicates an au¬ 
thor’s meaning. 

Q. When is this most apt to be overlooked ? 

A. In the placing or arranging of such words or 
clauses as are of a qualifying or restrictive nature. 

Q. What class of words come chiefly under this head ? 

A. Those denominated adverbs, w'hich may, by an 
improper position, be made to qualify a wrong word, 
and thus bring out a meaning totally different from 
that intended. 

Q. Can you exemplify what you have mentioned ? 

A. “William has set out upon his travels, and he 
not only means to visit Paris, but also Rome ” 

Q Where does the error lie here \ 



CLEARNESS. 


63 


PART II.] 

A. In the position of not only , which, as they stand, 
are made to qualify means; whereas the word they 
should qualify is Paris ; as, “ He means to visit, not 
only Paris, but Rome also.” 

Q. When several restrictive or qualifying clauses occur in the 
same sentence, how should they be disposed? 

A. The best way is, not to place them too near each 
other, but so to disperse and arrange them, as to leave 
the principal words of the sentence prominent and 
distinct. 

Q. What is faulty in the following sentence: “ A great stone 
that I happened to find, after a long search, by the sea-shore, 
served me for an anchor 1” 

A. The qualifying clause, “ after a long search,” is 
improperly placed. 

Q. What may the meaning of the sentence be according to the 
present arrangement ? 

A. Why, that the search was confined to the sea¬ 
shore, whereas it is intended to be stated that the 
stone was found on the sea-shore. 

Q. Can you give the sentence in a corrected form ? 

A. “A great stone that I happened, after a long 
search, to find by the sea-shore, served me for an 
anchor.” 

Q. "What is the most general rule upon the subject of arrange¬ 
ment ? 

A. Place words so as best to preserve and exhibit 
the proper connection of the thoughts for which they 
stand, and which they are intended to convey. 

Q. Is there any more specific rule ? 

A. Let all relative and connective words, be so 
placed as best to indicate at once what they connect, 
and to what they refer. 

Q. What will be the consequence of an improper position of 
words in a sentence ? 

A. It will obscure the sense, and produce confusion 
in the mind of the reader or hearer. 

Q. Will you endeavor to correct the following sentences? It 
is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against the accidents of life, 
by heaping up treasures, from which nothing can protect us but 
the good providence of God. W'e shall now endeavor, with 
clearness and precision, to describe the provinces once muted 
under their sway. The minister who grows less by his elevation, 
like a little statue on a mighty pedestal, will always have his 
jealousy strong about him. 


64 


CLEARNESS 


[part II. 

A. It is folly to pretend, by heaping up treasures, 
to arm ourselves against the accidents of life, from 
which nothing can protect us but the good providence 
of God. We shall endeavor to describe, with clear¬ 
ness and precision, the provinces once united under 
their sway. The minister who, like a little statue on 
a mighty pedestal, grows less by his elevation, will 
always have his jealousy strong about him. 

EXERCISES. 

I. Correct the errors in the position of adverbs, in 
the following sentences: 

1. By doing the same thing it often becomes habitual. 

2. Not to exasperate him, I only spoke a few words. 

3. Sixtus the Fourth was, if I mistake not, a great collector of books at 
least. 

4. We do those things frequently, which we repent of afterward. 

5. I was engaged formerly in that business, but I never shall be again 

concerned in it. ' 

<5. If Louis XIV. was not the greatest king, he was the best actor of 
majesty, at least, that ever filled a throne. 

II. Correct the errors in the position of clauses and 
circumstances, in the following sentences : 

1. I have settled the meaning of those pleasures of the imagination, 
which are the subject of my present undertaking, by way of introduction, 
in this paper ; and endeavored to recommend the pursuit of those pleas¬ 
ures to my readers, by several considerations ; I shall examine the several 
sources whence these pleasures are derived, in the next paper. 

2. Fields of corn form a pleasant prospect; and if the walks were a lit¬ 
tle taken care of that lie between them, they would display neatness, reg 
ularity, and elegance. 

3. I have confined myself to those methods for the advancement of piety, 
which are in the power of a prince, limited like ours, by a strict execution 
of the laws. 

4. This morning, when one of the gay females was looking over some 
noods and ribands, brought by her tirewoman, with great care and dili¬ 
gence, I employed no less in examining the box which contained them. 

5. Since it is necessary that there should be a perpetual intercourse of 
buying and selling, and dealing upon credit, where fraud is permitted or 
connived at, or has no law to punish it, the honest dealer is often undone, 
and the knave gets the advantage. 

6. As the guilt of an officer will be greater than that of a common ser¬ 
vant, if he prove negligent, so the reward of his fidelity will be proportion 
ably greater. 

7. Let the virtue of a definition be what it will, in the order of things, 
it seems rather to follow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to 
be considered as the result. 

8. This work, in its full extent, being now afflicted with an asthma, and 
finding the power of life gradually declining, he had no longer courage to 
undertake. 

9. The witness had been ordered to withdraw from the bar, in conse¬ 
quence of being intoxicated, by the motion of an honorable member. 


UNITY, 


65 


PART II.] 

III. Correct the errors in the position or the too 
frequent repetition of pronouns, in the following sen¬ 
tences : 

1. These are the master’s rules, who must he obeyed. 

2. They attacked the Duke of Northumberland’s house, whom they put 
to death. 

3. It is true what he says, but it is not applicable to the point. 

4. He was taking a view, from a window, of the cathedral of Litchfield, 
In which a party of the royalists had fortified themselves. 

5. It is folly to pretend to arm ourselves against the accidents of life, by 
heaping up treasures, which nothing can protect us against, but the good 
providence of our Heavenly Father. 

6. Thus I have fairly given you my opinion, as well as that of a great 
majority of both houses here, relating to this weighty affair, upon which I 
am confident you may securely reckon. 

7. From a habit of saving time and paper, which they acquired at the 
university, many write in so diminutive a manner, with such frequent blots 
and interlineations, that they are hardly able to go on without perpetual 
hesitation or extemporary expletives. 

8. Lysias promised to his father never to abandon his friends. 

9. Men look with an evil eye upon the good that is in others, and think 
that their reputation obscures them, and that their commendable qualities 
do stand in their light; and therefore they do what they can to cast a 
cloud over them, that the bright shining of their virtues may not obscure 
them. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

OF UNITY. 

Q. What do you mean by the Unity of a sentence ? 

A. Closeness and compactness of arrangement, and 
tne restriction of the sentence to one leading idea. 

Q. When is unity most apt to be violated ? 

A. When the sentence is long, and crowded with a 
number of qualifying clauses, among which there is 
no very close connection. 

Q. What, for the sake of unity, should there be in every sen¬ 
tence ? 

A. One principal object of thought, which should 
never be obscured, nor concealed from view. 

Q. What is the first rule, then, for preserving unity ? 

A. Never, if possible, during the course of a sen¬ 
tence, to change the scene or the actor. 

Q. Can you exemplify the violation of this rule ? 

A “ After we came to anchor, they put me on 
shore, where I was welcomed by all my friends, who 
received me with the greatest kindness.” 

F 2 



06 


UNITY. 


[part II. 


Q. What is faulty in this sentence? 

A. A frequent change of subject, as we, they, I, who , 
which are all nominatives to different verbs, and there¬ 
fore tend to distract the attention. 

Q. Can you give it in a corrected form ? 

A. “ After we came to anchor, I was put on shore, 
where I was welcomed by all my friends, and receiv¬ 
ed by them with the greatest kindness.” 

Q. What is the next rule for obtaining unity? 

A. It is, never to crowd into one sentence things so 
unconnected that they would bear to be divided into 
different sentences. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. “ Virtuous men are always the most happy; but 
vice strows the path of her votaries with thorns.’ 

Q. How would you correct this sentence ? 

A. By making each member a separate sentence; 
as, “ Virtuous men are always the most happy. Vice 
strows the path of her followers with thorns.” 

Q. What is the next rule under this head? 

A. It is to avoid all unnecessary parentheses, and 
all such words and members as interrupt the natural 
unity of thought which a sentence should exhibit. 

Q. Are parentheses always improper ? 

A. By no means ; for they sometimes give elegance 
and vivacity to a sentence. They should, however, 
be used very sparingly, as they tend, when improper¬ 
ly introduced, to clog and embarrass a sentence. 

Q. Are parentheses as much in use as they once were ? 

A. No ; for by modern writers they are mostly laid 
aside; but old writers were in general very profuse in 
the use of them. 

Q. How may long and awkward parentheses be avoided ? 

A. Either by entirely rejecting them, or, if what they 
contain be necessary to the sense, by putting them 
into a separate sentence. 

Q. Can you give an example of the right use of parentheses ? 

A. “ The bliss of man (could pride that blessing find) 

Is not to act or think beyond mankind.” 

Q. Will you endeavor to correct the following sentences, in 
which unity has been neglected ? A short time after this injury, 
he came to himself; and the next day they put him on board a 
ship which conveyed him first to Corinth, and thence to the island 
of iEgina. Never delay till to-morrow (for to-morrow is not 


UNIT l. 


67 


PART II.J 

yours ; and thougn you snould live to enjoy it, you must not over¬ 
load it with a burden not its own) what reason and conscience 
tell you ought to be performed to-day. 

A. A short time after this injury, he came to him¬ 
self; and being the next day put on board a ship, he 
was conveyed first to Corinth, and thence to the isl¬ 
and of iEgina. Never delay till to-morrow what rea¬ 
son and conscience tell you ought to be performed to¬ 
day. To-morrow is not yours ; and though you should 
live to enjoy it, you must not overload it with a bur¬ 
den not its own. 

EXERCISES. 

I. Correct the errors arising from the change of the 
scene or actor, in the following sentences: 

1. The Britons, daily harassed by cruel inroads from the Piets, were 
forced to call in the Saxons for their defence ; who, consequently, reduced 
the greater part of the island to their own power, drove the Britons into the 
most remote and mountainous parts ; and the rest of the country, in dia¬ 
toms, religion, and languages, became wholly Saxon. 

2. All the precautions of prudence, moderation, and condescension, which 
Eumenes employed, were incapable of mollifying the hearts of these barba¬ 
rians, and of extinguishing their jealousy; and he must have renounced 
the virtue and merit which occasioned it, to have been capable of appeas¬ 
ing them. 

3. He who performs every employmont in its due place and season, suf¬ 
fers no part of time to escape without profit; and thus his days become 
multiplied, and much of life is enjoyed in little space. 

4. Desire of pleasure ushers in temptation, and the growth of disorderly 
passions is forwarded. 

II. Correct such errors, in the following passages, 
as arise from crowding into one sentence things which 
have no intimate connection : 

1. The notions of Lord Sunderland were always good ; but he was a man 
of great expense. 

2. Cato died in the full vigor of life, under fifty ; he was naturally warm 
and affectionate m his temper ; comprehensive, impartial, and strongly pos¬ 
sessed with the love of mankind. 

3. In this uneasy state, both of his public and private life, Cicero was 
oppressed by a new and deep affliction, the death of his beloved daughter 
Tullia; which happened soon after her divorce from Dolabella, whose man¬ 
ners and humors were entirely disagreeable to her. 

4. I single him out among the moderns, because he had the foolish pre¬ 
sumption to censure Tacitus, and to write history himself; and your lord 
ship will forgive this short excursion in honor of a favorite author. 

III. Correct the errors in the use of parentheses, 
in the following sentences : 

1. Disappointments wiil often happen to the best and wisest men (not 
through any imorudence of theirs, nor eve through the malice or ill de- 


68 


STRENGTH. 


[part II. 

sign of others; but merely in consequence of some of those cross incidents 
of life which could not be foreseen), and sometimes to the wisest and best 
concerted plans. 

2. It was an ancient tradition, that when the Capitol was founded by 
one of the Roman kings, the god Terminus (who presided over boundaries, 
and was represented, according to the fashion of that age, by a large stone) 
alone, among all the inferior deities, refused to yield his place to Jupiter 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

OF STRENGTH. 

Q. What do you mean by the Strength of a sentence ? 

A. The power which it possesses of making a deep 
impression upon the mind. 

Q. What is the first requisite for obtaining strength ? 

A. It is, to avoid all tautology, and admit into a sen 
tence no words and members but such as the sense 
absolutely requires. 

Q. What am 1 to understand by tautology ? 

A. The application of several words to express the 
same idea—a practice which has, at all tftnes, an en¬ 
feebling effect. 

Q. Can you give an example of tautology ? 

A, “ They returned back again to the same city from 
whence they came forth.” 

Q. What words are here redundant ? 

A, Back , again , same , from , and forth,* the meaning 
of all which is implied in the other words of the sen¬ 
tence. 

Q. What is the next rule for promoting the strength of a sen¬ 
tence ? 

A. To dispose of the principal words and members 
in such a manner that they will produce the greatest 
possible effect upon the mind of the reader or hearer. 

Q. What must we often do to accomplish this? 

A. We must frequently give the words an arrange- 
, ment different from that which they usually have ; as, 
“ Great is Diana of the Ephesians,” which gives much 
more spirit to the sentiment than. “ Diana of the 
Ephesians is great.” See chapter xv. 

Q. What do you call the placing of words out of their natural 
order? 

A. Inversion or transposition, which, when judi- 



STRENGTH. 


PART II.] 


69 


ciously made, contributes both to the strength and 
elegance of a sentence. 

Q. What is your next remark, on the subject of strength ? 

A. It is, that a weaker assertion should never fol 
low a stronger; nor a shorter member one of greater 
length. 

Q. Can you give an illustration of this principle ? 

A. “ When our passions have forsaken us, we flat¬ 
ter ourselves with the belief that we have forsaken 
them,” is a better arrangement than, “ We flatter our¬ 
selves with the belief that we have forsaken our pas¬ 
sions, when they have fbrsaken us.” 

Q. What is your next observation on the strength of senten¬ 
ces ? 

A. It is, to avoid, if possible, concluding them with 
any short, trifling, or unemphatic word. 

Q. What are the words which you would include in this class ? 

A . Some of the pronouns, several of the adverbs, and 
most of the prepositions. 

Q. Will you exemplify what you have stated? 

A. “ Avarice is a crime, which wise men are often 
guilty of,” is less forcible and dignified than “ Avarice, 
is a crime, of which wise men are often guilty.” 

Q. What have you farther to observe on this topic ? 

A. When two things are contrasted with one an¬ 
other for the purpose of expressing either resemblance 
or opposition, a similar resemblance or opposition 
should be observed in the structure of the sentence. 

Q. Upon what principle is this rule founded? 

A. Upon the principle that, when we find a corre¬ 
spondence among objects, we naturally expect a simi¬ 
lar correspondence among the words by which they 
are denoted. • 

Q. Will you give an example of this ? 

A. “ The idle never make so much improvement as 
diligent persons,” should be, “ The idle never make 
so much improvement as the diligent.” 

Q. Can you correct the following sentences ? It is six years 
ago since I paid a visit to my relations. The reason why he acted 
in the manner he did, was not fully and completely explained. If 
I mistake not, I think he is improved both in knowledge and be¬ 
havior These two boys appear to be both equal in capacity. 

A. It is six years since I paid a visit to my rela- 


70 


STRENGTH. 


[part ? 

tions. The reason he acted in the manner he did 
was never fully explained. If I mistake not, he is im* 
proved both in knowledge and behavior. These two 
boys appear equal in capacity. 

EXERCISES. 

I. Divest the following sentences of all redundant 
words and members: 

1. Suspend your censure so long 1 , till your judgment on the subject can 
be wisely formed. 

2. How many are there by whom these tidings of good news were never 
heard! 

3. He says nothing of it himself, and I am not disposed to travel into the 
regions of conjecture, but to relate a narrative of facts. 

4. Never did Atticus succeed better in gaining the universal love and es 
teem of all men. 

5. These points have been illustrated in so plain and evident a manner, 
that the perusal of the book has given me pleasure and satisfaction. 

6. I was much moved on this occasion, and went home full of a great 
■aany serious reflections. 

7. This measure may afford some profit, and furnish some amusement. 

8. Less capacity is required for this business, but more time is necessary. 

9. Thought and language act and react upon each other mutually. 

II. Correct such errors, in the following passages, 
arise from the improper use of copulatives, rela¬ 
tives, and particles employed in transition and con¬ 
nection : 

1. The enemy said, I will pursue, and I will overtake, and I will divide 
the spoil. 

2. There is nothing which promotes knowledge more than steady appli* 
cation, and a habit of observation. 

3. The faith he professed, and which he became an apostle of, was not 
his invention. 

4. Their idleness, and their luxury and pleasures, their criminal deeds, 
and their immoderate passions, and their timidity and baseness of mind, 
have dejected them to such a degree, as to make them weary of life. 

III. Correct such errors, in the following sentences, 
as arise from the improper position of the most im¬ 
portant words: 

1. I have considered the subject with a good deal of attention, upon which 
I was desired to communicate my thoughts. 

2- Whether a choice, altogether unexceptionable, has in any country 
been made, seems doubtful. 

3. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with Homer, but 
his invention remains yet unrivaled. , 

4. Ambition creates seditions, wars, discord, and hatred. 

5. Sloth pours upon us a deluge of crimes and evils, and saps the foun¬ 
dation of every virtue. 

6. The ancient laws of Rome were so far from suffering a Roman citizen 
to be put to death, that they would not allow him to be bound, or even to 
be whipped. 


HARMONY. 


71 


PART II-] 

7. Every one who puts on the appearance of goodness, is not good. 

8. Let us employ our criticism on ourselves, instead of being critics on 
others. 

9. How will that nobleman be able to conduct himself, when reduced to 
poverty, who was educated only to magnificence and pleasure ? 

IV. Correct such errors, in the following sentences, 
as arise from placing weaker assertions or proposi¬ 
tions after stronger ones: 

1. Charity breathes long-suffering to enemies, courtesy to strangers, and 
habitual kindness to friends. 

2. Gentleness ought to diffuse itself over our whole behavior, to form 
our address, and to regulate our speech. 

3. The propensity to look forward into life, is too often grossly abused, 
and immoderately indulged. 

4. The regular tenor of a virtuous and pious life will prove the best prep¬ 
aration for immortality, old age, and death. 

5. In this state of mind, every employment of life becomes an oppressive 
burden, and every object appears gloomy. 

V. Correct such errors, in the following passages, 
as arise from concluding the sentences with inconsid¬ 
erable words: 

1. May the happy message be applied to us, in all the virtue, strength, 
and comfort of it! 

2. This agreement of mankind is not confined to taste solely. 

3. Such a system may be established, but it will not be supported long. 

4. The doctrine of the Trinity is a mystery which w r e firmly believe the 
truth of, and humbly adore the depth of. 

VI. Correct such errors, in the following sentences, 
as arise from not preserving some resemblance in the 
language and construction of the members, in which 
two objects are either compared or contrasted: 

1. I have observed of late the style of some great ministers very much 
to exceed that of any other productions. 

2. The old may inform the young; and the young may animate those 
who are advanced in life. 

3. Force was resisted by force, valor opposed by valor, and art encoun¬ 
tered or eluded by similar address 

4. A friend exaggerates a man’s virtues ; an enemy inflames his crimes 


CHAPTER XIX. 

OF HARMONY. 

Q. Can you mention any thing besides perspicuity, that gives 
peculiar grace to composition ? 

A. A smooth and easy flow of the words and mem¬ 
bers of sentences, and a freedom from all harshness of 

scwmd 



72 


HARMONY. 


[part II. 


Q. What quality of style does this constitute ? 

A. That which is usually denominated Harmony or 
Melody. 

Q. Do these two terms imply exactly the same idea T 

A. Not precisely; melody denotes a succession of 
pleasing sounds; harmony, the agreement that one 
sound has with another. 

Q. Is harmony an important quality of style ? 

A. It is certainly of less consequence than perspi¬ 
cuity ; still it is a singular excellence, and affords con¬ 
siderable pleasure to the reader or hearer. 

Q. On what does harmony of style depend ? 

A. Partly on the selection, partly on the arrange¬ 
ment of words. 

Q. "What words are generally most harmonious ? 

A. Those which contain a due proportion of liquid 
sounds, and have at the same time a proper mixture 
of vowels and consonants. 

Q. Can you give any examples of this ? 

A. Fortitude , contentment , subordinate , are of this 
class. 

What words are generally most deficient in harmony? 

J. Such as are derivatives from previous com¬ 
pounds, or crowded with consonants, the sounds of 
which do not readily coalesce; as, shamefacedness , 
chroniclers , conventiclers. 

Q. Are there any others that are remarkably harsh ? 

A. Yes; such as contain either many short sylla¬ 
bles following the seat of the accent, or a number of 
syllables nearly similar in sound; as, primarily , cur¬ 
sorily, lovelily, farriery. 

Q. If the words be separately harmonious, will the whole sen¬ 
tence be so ? 

A. The one does not necessarily follow from the 
other; for the words may be separately both well 
chosen and agreeable in sound, and yet, if they are 
badly arranged, the sentence may be destitute of har¬ 
mony. 

Can you illustrate this by example? 

A. “Office or rank maybe the recompense of in¬ 
trigue, versatility, or flattery,” is a sentence com¬ 
posed of words individually melodious, and yet, in 
consequence of bad arrangement, it is not harmonious. 


HARMONY. 


73 


PART II.J 

Q. How may the arrangement be improved ? 

A. “ Rank or office may be the recompense of flat¬ 
tery, versatility, oV intrigue.” 

Q. Can you give any general directions on this subject ? 

A. Too many words either uniform as to length, or 
the position of the accent, should never, if possible, be 
placed together. 

Q. Can you illustrate this by example ? 

A. “No species of joy can long please ns;” “James 
was needy, feeble, y and fearful are less harmonious 
than “ no species of joy can long delight us “ James 
was weak, timid, and destitute .” 

Q. What have you farther to observe on this head 1 

A. Words resembling each other in the sound of 
any of their letters or syllables, as well as such as 
are difficult to pronounce in succession, should never 
stand in immediate connection. 

Q. Can you give any illustration of this ? 

A. A true union, an indulgent parent, a cruel destroyer, 
an improper impression, are far less harmonious than 
a true friendship, a kind parent, a cruel foe, a false im¬ 
pression. 

Q. Have you any thing farther to remark ? 

A. That a sentence may not be harsh, and, conse¬ 
quently, of difficult pronunciation, the several mem¬ 
bers of which it is composed should neither be too 
long, nor disproportionate to each other. 

Q. In what sort of composition ought harmony to be most care¬ 
fully studied ? 

A. In the composition of verse, one of the chief 
excellences of which consists in its being musical. 

Q. What part of a sentence should we be the most careful to 
make harmonious ? 

A. The close; for it is to this part that the attention 
of the reader or hearer is generally most attracted. 

Q. What name is commonly given to a graceful conclusion of 
a sentence? 

A. It is commonly styled a cadence; and was by 
the ancients considered an essential requisite in every 
well-constructed sentence. 

Q. What is faulty in point of harmony in the following sen 
tence: “ And an enormous serpent lay dead on the floor V* 

A. It is the circumstance of the three syllables, and, 
G 


74 


SOUND AS SUITED TO SENSE. [PART II. 

an, en, which are so much alike in sound, following 
each other, without any other word intervening 

Q. How may it be corrected ? 

A. Thus, “ And a serpent of enormous size lay dead 
on the floor.” 

EXERCISES. 

Correct such errors, in the following sentences as 
arise from want of harmony in their structure : 

1. Sober-mindedness suits the present state of man. 

2. It belongs not to our humble and confined station to censure, but to 
adore, submit, and trust. 

3. Tranquillity, regularity, and magnanimity, reside with the religious 
and resigned man. 

4. Sloth, ease, success, naturally tend to beget vices and follies. 

5. By a cheerful, even, and open temper, he conciliated general favor. 

6. We reached the mansion before noon ; it was a strong, grand, Gothic 
house 


CHAPTER XX. 

OF SOUND AS SUITED TO THE SENSE. 

Q. What is considered the highest species of ornament arising 
from harmony in composition ? 

A. That which consists in a correspondence of the 
sound to the sense. 

Q. By whom is this quality of style chiefly exhibited? 

A. By all our best poets; though good prose wri¬ 
ters also abound in beauties of a similar kind ; as 
there is generally some agreement between the flow 
and modulation of the language, and the nature and 
character of the thoughts and sentiments expressed. 

Q. When can the sound, most readily be made an echo to the 
sense ? 

A. In cases in which, sound or motion come to be 
described: though calm and gentle emotions may be 
always expressed to most advantage by smooth and 
gentle language ; while harsh feelings and rugged 
sentiments naturally give rise to harsh and rugged 
diction. 

Q. Can you give an example of the sound being an echo to the 
sense ? 

A. “ A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

That, like a wounded snake, draws its slow length along.” 



75 


PART II.] SOUND AS SUITED TO SENSE. 

“ The waves behind impel the waves before, 

Wide-rolling, foaming high, and tumbling on the shore.” 

'■ With many a weary step, and many a groan, 

Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone ; 

The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, 

Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.” 

“ On a sudden open fly, 

With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 

The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 
Harsh thunder.” 

“ They hand in hand, with wandering steps* and slow 
Through Eden took their solitary way.” 

“ Now the rich stream of music winds along, 

Deep , majestic, smooth, and strong .” 

“ From peak to peak the rattling crags among 
Leaps the live thunder!” 

Q. Who have been most distinguished for attention to harmo¬ 
nious composition ? 

A. The Greeks and Romans among the ancients, 
and the Italians and French among the moderns. 

Q. What tended to promote the study of harmonious composi¬ 
tion among the ancients ? 

A. Partly their own fine musical taste, and partly 
the highly melodious and flexible character of their 
language. 

Q. Has this study never been carried to excess ? 

A. Frequently; and it is always so, when sense is, 
in the least degree, sacrificed to sound. 

Q. Do not strength and harmony generally go together ? 

A. For the most part they do ; and it frequently 
happens, that a sentence is weak or obscure in exact 
proportion to its want of harmony. 

Q. Can you give an example of this ? 

A. “ This is a mystery which we firmly believe the 
truth of, and we humbly adore the depth of,” is nei¬ 
ther so strong nor so harmonious as, “ This is a mys¬ 
tery, the truth of which we firmly believe, and the 
depth of which we humbly adore ” 


CHOICE OF WORDS. 


[part II. 


"6 


CHAPTER XXL 

CHOICE OF WORDS WITH A VIEW TO ENERGY OR 
VIVACITY. 

Whateley has treated well the whole subject of 
style. He says, in substance, 

First. We must ever prefer those words which are 
the least abstract and general. Individuals alone hav¬ 
ing a real existence, the terms denoting them will, of 
course, make the most vivid impression on the mind, 
and exercise most the power of conception ; and the 
more specific any term is, the more energy it will pos¬ 
sess ; in comparison of such as are more general, it 
will present a more bright and definite picture of the 
object. 

It depends on our choice whether we will employ 
terms more general than the subject requires ; which 
may almost always be done consistently with truth 
and propriety, though not with energy. If it be true 
that a man has committed murder, it may be correctly 
asserted that he has committed a crime. The former 
term would impress the fact more vividly upon our 
minds, because more specific and individualizing. 
Some prefer general terms because they consider 
them more refined, but, except for the purpose of 
making, our statements more comprehensive, they en¬ 
feeble style. 

The only proper occasion for the use of general 
terms is, when we wish to avoid giving a vivid im 
pression—when our object is to soften what is offen 
sive, disgusting, or shocking; as when we speak ot 
an “ execution” instead of a “ hanging.” On the oth 
er hand, in Antony’s speech over Caesars body, his 
object being to excite horror, Shakspeare puts into 
his mouth the most particular expressions; “ those 
honorable men (not who killed Caesar, but) whose dag¬ 
gers have stabbed him.” 

Secondly, not only does a regard for energy re 
quire that we should not use terms more general than 
are exactly adequate to the objects spoken of, but we 


PART II.] EXAMINATION OP SENTENCES. 77 

are also allowed, in many cases, to employ less gen¬ 
eral terms than are exactly “ appropriate,” by a figure 
called synecdoche. To illustrate this point, Dr. 
Campbell has cited the passage from one of our 
Lord’s discourses (which are generally of this char¬ 
acter), recorded in Luke, xii., 27, 28. “ Consider the 
lilies how they grow : they toil not, they spin not; and 
yet, I say unto you, that Solomon , in all his glory , was 
not arrayed like one of these. If, then, God so clothe 
the grass, which to-day is in the field , and to-morrow is 
cast into the oven , how much more will he clothe you 1” 
Let us here adopt a little of the tasteless manner 
of modem paraphrasis, by the substitution of more 
general terms, and let us observe the bad effect of 
this change. “ Consider the fiowers, how they gradu¬ 
ally increase hi size ; they do no manner of work , and 
yet, I declare to you, that no king whatever, in his most 
splendid habit , is dressed up like them. If, then, God 
in his providence doth so adorn the vegetable produc¬ 
tions which continue but little time upon the land, and 
are afterward devdted to the meanest uses , how much 
more will he provide clothing for you 1” How spirit¬ 
less is the same sentiment rendered by these small 
variations ! The very particularizing of to-day and to¬ 
morrow is infinitely more* expressive of transitori¬ 
ness, than any description wherein the terms are gen¬ 
eral, that can be substituted in its room. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OP SENTENCES. 

The author has prepared from Blair’s Lectures, and inserted 
in Part VIII., Chapter ii., of this work, condensed critical remarks 
on passages from the Spectator of Addison. He would, however, 
suggest, that Blair’s Lectures (the full work) should be in the 
hands of every teacher, and the critical lectures should be read to- 
students who are aiming to acquire correct literary taste. 

He would also suggest that the compositions written by mem¬ 
bers of the class, the writer’s name being concealed, should be 
freely criticised by the class, when assembled, in respect to the 
various qualities of style treated on in previous chapters. 

G 2 



78 


FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. [PART II. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

OF FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 

Q. What do you consider the nexi great requisite of a perspic 
uous and elegant style T 

A. A judicious use of what is called Figurative 
Language. 

Q. In how many different ways may language be employed ? 

A. Chiefly two : the one literal, the other figurative. 

Q. What do you understand by literal language ? 

A. Language taken in its common and ordinary 
signification; as, I am fond of sunshine; this is a 
sweet evening. 

Q. And what by figurative language ? 

A. Language used in such away as to excite ideas 
or feelings different from those which it would pro¬ 
duce, if employed in its common and ordinary ac¬ 
ceptation ; as, “ Reason is the sunshine of the soul 
“ Our friend is now in the evening of life.” 

Q. What is the meaning of sunshine and evening in these ex¬ 
amples ? 

A. The one implies that reason has the same effect 
upon the soul that sunshine has upon the earth; the 
other, that period when life is drawing to a close. 

Q. Why is language of this k$nd called figurative language ? 

A. Because it exhibits thoughts in a form or man¬ 
ner different from that in which they are usually rep¬ 
resented. 

Q. On what is figurative language founded ? 

A. Generally on some resemblance or opposition 
which one thing is supposed to bear to another. 

Q. What constitutes the chief difference between literal and 
figurative language? 

A. Literal language is the language chiefly of sci¬ 
ence and reason; figurative language, the language 
principally of passion and imagination. 

Q. By whom is figurative language used in greatest profusion ? 

A. By rude and savage nations, whose stock of 
words is remarkably scanty; and by all persons* 
whether savage or civilized, who possess a quick and 
lively fancy. 

Q. What is the most fertile source of figurative language ? 


PART II.] FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE. 79 

A. The application of words that denote sensible 
objects, for the purpose of expressing the various 
qualities and operations of the mind. 

Q. What, therefore, is the general character of language used 
to denote mental objects ? 

A. It is in general highly figurative; though to this 
circumstance we are so accustomed, that we often 
pass it without observing it to be so. 

Q. Can you give examples of this ? 

A. A clear head, a hard heart, a piercing judgment; 
inflamed by passion, puffed up with pride, melted into 
grief, are all examples of this, and yet so common 
that we hardly regard them as figures of speech. 

Q. What advantage does language derive from its figurative 
application 7 * 

A. It is rendered more varied and copious, more 
sprightly and energetic. 

Q. How are these effects produced ? 

A. By a single word acquiring the power of ex¬ 
pressing more than one thought or idea. 

Q. Can you give an example of this ? 

A. “ When we dip too deep in pleasure, we stir up 
a sediment that renders it impure and noxious,” is a 
sentiment which could not be expressed either so 
briefly or so forcibly by any literal language that we 
could use. 

Q. When is figurative language improper ? 

A. When it is either unnatural or far-fetched, used 
in too great profusion, or not calculated to deepen the 
impression intended to be made.—See Beattie's Moral 
Science , p. 471-478. 

Q. Is figurative language all of one character ? 

A . Far from it; but, though exceedingly diversi¬ 
fied, it may all be classed under certain heads, called 
th e figures of speech. 

Q. What, then, are the principal figures of speech ? 

A. Simile, metaphor, allegory, personification, apos¬ 
trophe, metonymy, synecdoche, climax, antithesis, hy¬ 
perbole, irony, interrogation, exclamation, vision, and 
alliteration. 


80 


SIMILE. 


[part II. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

OF SIMILE. 

Q. What do you understand by comparison or simile 1 

A. That figure of speech by which we liken one 
thing to another, either for the purpose of informing 
the judgment, or of pleasing the fancy. 

Q. Can you give an example of this figure ? 

A. “A virtuous man, slandered by evil tongues, is 
like a diamond obscured by smoke.” 

u And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.” 

Q. What is the foundation of this figure ? 

A. Analogy, or resemblance, either in character or 
effect. 

Q. From what source, then, must similes be drawn ? 

A, From objects of a different class from those to 
be explained or illustrated, but yet possessing some 
quality in common with them. 

Q. Why do we not compare things of the same kind 

A. Because the resemblance is then too close and 
obvious to admit of comparison; and exhibits not 
likeness, but identity. 

Q. Do we never compare things of the same class ? 

A. We compare things of the same class, for the 
purpose of marking their difference; but those of a 
different class, with a view to point out their resem¬ 
blance. 

Q. WQiat rule have you to give for the use of this figure ? 

A. When used for the purpose of illustration, it 
should always be taken from something that is better 
known than the thing to be explained. 

Can you give any example of this ? 

A. “As a river rolls its waters to the sea, whence 
its spring was supplied, so the heart of a grateful man 
delights to return a benefit received.” 

Q. What is the rule respecting similes when used for embel¬ 
lishment as well as illustration? 

A. They ought always to be deduced from objects 
that are dignified and important, or such as may be 
contemplated with pleasure. 


SIMILE. 


81 


PART II.] 

Q. Can you give any examples of this ? 

A. The following is taken from G. B. Cheever’s 
Lectures on the Pilgrim’s Progress. It approaches to 
an allegory. 

“ You follow with intense interest the movements of Bunyan’f 
soul. You seem to see a lovely bark driving across the ocean in a 
hurricane. By the flashes of the lightning you can just discern her 
through the darkness, plunging and laboring fearfully in the mid¬ 
night tempest, and you think that all is lost; but there again you 
behold her in the quiet sunshine ; or the moon and the stars look 
down upon her, as the wind breathes softly: or in a fresh and 
favorable gale she flies across the flying waters. Now it is clouds, 
and rain, and hail, and rattling thunder, storms coming down as 
sudden, almost, as the lightning; and now again her white sails 
glitter in heaven’s light, like an albatross in the spotless horizon. 
The last glimpse you catch of her, she is gloriously entering the 
narbor, the haven of eternal rest; yea, you see her like a star, 
that in the morning of eternity dies into the light of heaven. Can 
there be any thing more interesting than thus to follow the peril¬ 
ous course of an immortal soul, from danger to safety, from con¬ 
flict to victory, from temptation to triumph, from suffering to 
blessedness, from the city of Destruction to the city of God!” 

Q. By what terms are comparisons generally introduced ? 

A. By the words like, thus, as, so, in like manner 
&c. 

Q. What, then, do you deem a perfect simile? 

A. One that both illustrates and ennobles a subject; 
though it can not be said to be misapplied, should it do 
only the one. 

Q. What sort of comparisons should we avoid ? 

A. Such as have no tendency either to explain or 
beautify ; and, therefore, neither convey knowledge, 
nor excite new and pleasing trains of thought. 

EXERCISES ON SIMILE OR COMPARISON. 

Fill up the blanks in the following passages with 
suitable objects of comparison. 

“ Great men, like , have many crooked cuts and dark alleys in 

their hearts, whereby he that knows them may save himself much time 
and trouble.” 

“ Russia, like , is rather unwieldy in attacking others, but most 

formidable in defending herself.” 

“ When error sits in the seat of power and authority, and is generated 
in high places, it may he compared to , which originates, indeed, in 

the mountain, but commits its devastation in the vale.” 

“ The true motives of our actions, like , are usually concealed ; 

but the gilded and the hollow pretext is pompously placed in the front of 
show.” 


82 


METAPHOR 


[part II. 

“ Mental pleasures never cloy ; unlike those , they are in¬ 

creased by repetition, approved by reflection, and strengthened by enjoy¬ 
ment.” 

“ Society, like , must be viewed in all situations, or its colors 

will deceive us.” 

“ The mob, like , is very seldom agitated without some cause 

superior and exterior to itself; but (to continue the simile) both are capa¬ 
ble of doing the greatest mischief after the cause which first set them in 
motion has ceased to act.” 

“ The beauties and sublimities of nature are like , which the 

etorm shuts out, but when the heavens are serene they come out, one after 
onother, to the eye that is watching for them, till the firmament glows 
with their light.” 

“ Bad books are like , sailing under false colors in every sea, 

and delighting in the wreck and conquest of every thing precious.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

OF METAPHOR. 

Q. What do you understand by a Metaphor ? 

A. A comparison in which the words denoting the 
.similitude are suppressed ; as, “ I will be to her a wall 
of fire that is, “ as a wall of fire.” 

Q. What is the origin of metaphors ? 

A. It may be founded on a comparison , 

1. Of the qualities of a man with those of a beast ; as when we call a 
jrafty and cruel man afox: 

2. Of one inanimate thing with another ; as when we say, clouds of dust, 
poods of fire: 

3. Of a man with an inanimate thing ; as when Ilomer calls Ajax a bul¬ 
wark of the Greeks : 

4. Of inanimate things with what has life and feeling ; as when Virgil 
calls a plentiful crop a. joyful one, Icctas segetes : 

5. Of the qualities of mind with those of matter ; as when we say, a solid 
judgment, a fiery temper, a hard heart, &c. To this head maybe referred 
a number of metaphors common in Holy W T rit, which convey, in such a 
way as our finite natures can comprehend, some faint idea of the opera¬ 
tions of the Supreme Being ; as when God is said to hear, to see, to repent, 
to be angry, to open his hand, to hide his face, &c., phrases which nobody 
understands in the literal sense. 

Q. In what respects does the metaphor differ from the simile ? 

*4. The former, the most common of all the figures, 
substitutes one thing for another, and applies to the 
primary object language which is, strictly speaking, 
descriptive only of the secondary. Thus, in Wolsey”s 
description of the state of man, “To-day he puts 
forth the tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms,” 
a tree is put for man, and the changes, which can in 



METAPHOR. 


PART II.] 


83 


strictness be predicated only of the secondary, tree, 
are attributed to the primary, man. 

Comparison, or Simile, is founded on resemblance, 
as well as metaphor, but it has nothing else in com¬ 
mon with it; and though it has been sometimes call¬ 
ed a lengthened metaphor, it is altogether a distinct 
figure. Metaphor always asserts what is manifestly 
false; comparison asserts nothing but what is true. 
In metaphor, the resembling qualities in the two ob¬ 
jects must be distinguishing qualities of those objects. 
In comparison, any striking resemblance may be 
made the subject of the figure. The former asserts 
that one object has the properties of another; the lat¬ 
ter, that one object resembles another. The two 
figures are, indeed, near akin, but they have a distinct 
personality ; they are sisters, the daughters of Like 
ness, by different fathers. The one is the child of 
Fancy, the other of Truth. 

Q. Can you illustrate this difference by example ? 

A. When I say of a minister, “ He upholds the 
state, like a pillar that supports an edifice,” I use a 
comparison ; but when I say, “ He is the pillar of th6 
state,” I then use a metaphor. 

Q. What is the first rule in the use of metaphors ? 

A. Do not employ them too profusely, and let them 
be such as accord with the natural train of the 
thoughts. 

Q. w hat is the next ? 

• A. Let the resemblance upon wnich the figures 
are founded be clear and perspicuous, and the met¬ 
aphors drawn from such objects as are easily under¬ 
stood. 

Q. On what is this rule founded ? 

A. On the circumstance that, if a word is unintel¬ 
ligible in a literal, it must be much more so in a met¬ 
aphorical sense. 

Q. What is the next rule ? 

A. Metaphorical and literal language should never 
be mixed together. 

Q. 1 Can you illustrate this by example ? 

A. “To thee the world its present homage-pays ; 

The harvest early, but mature the praise,” 


84 METAPHOR. [PART II. 

is a mixed metaphor; for harvest is figurative, but 
praise is literal, in its meaning. 

Q. What would it require to be to make it accurate ? 

A. “ The harvest early, but mature the fruit,” which 
would probably have been the word used, had it suited 
the poet’s rhyme. 

Q. What farther have you to remark respecting the use of met 
aphors ? 

A. We should neither pursue them too far, nor use* 
in reference to the same object, two metaphors that 
are inconsistent with each other. 

By the first part of this rule is meant, that we 
should not seek to trace out a great number of resem¬ 
blances between the thing illustrated by the figure, 
and the figure itself; for this would show that the 
writer’s mind is wandering, and less intent upon sense 
than upon wit; which, when the matter requires se¬ 
riousness and simplicity, is always offensive. Genius, 
regulated by correct taste, instead of fatiguing the 
attention with unnecessary circumstances, chooses 
rather to leave many things to be supplied by the 
reader’s fancy; and is always too much engrossed by 
its subject to have leisure to look out for minute simil¬ 
itudes. 

Q. Can you give any example of the latter part of the rule ? 

A. “ I bridle in my struggling muse with pain, 

That longs to launch into a bolder strain.” 

Q. What is the error here ? 

A. The muse is first compared to a horse, held in 
by a bridle, that it may not launch, an action which 
belongs properly to a ship ; and then it is to launch, 
not into water, but into a strain or singing, which, be¬ 
ing literal, produces a strange jumble of figures, alto¬ 
gether incompatible with correct writing. The nature 
of the thing expressed by the figure should not be con¬ 
founded with that of the thing which the figure is intend¬ 
ed to illustrate. 

When Penelope, in Pope’s Odyssey, calls her son a pillar of the 
state, the figure is good, because it signifies that he assisted in 
supporting the government; but when, in the next line, she com¬ 
plains that this pillar had gone away without asking leave or bid¬ 
ding farewell , there is a confusion of the nature of a pillar with 
that of a man: 


METAPHOR. 


85 


PART II.] 

“ Now from my fond embrace by tempest tom, 

Our other column of the state is borne, 

Nor took a kind adieu, nor sought.,consent.” 

Flame is used metaphorically for the passion of love ; but to 
say of a lover that he whispered his flame intd the ear of his be¬ 
loved (meaning that in a whisper he gave her intimation of his 
love) would be faulty: because it is not the property of fame to 
be blown into the ear, nor of a whisper to convey flame from one 
place to another. 

Dr. Beattie informs us that he had heard of clergymen, in their 
intemperate use of figurative expressions in public prayer (in 
which it should be used as little as possible), committing strange 
blunders of this kind : as of one who prayed that God would be 
a rock to them that are afar off upon the sea ; and that the British 
navy, like Mount Zion, might never be moved. 

Moreover, figures should not he too frequent. 

Blackmore, speaking of the destruction of Sodom, 
says, 

“ The gaping clouds pour lakes of sulphur down, 

Whose livid flashes sickening sunbeams drown.” 

“ What a noble confusion !” says a witty critic: 
“ clouds, lakes, brimstone, flames, sunbeams, gaping, 
pouring, sickening, drowning, all in two lines!” See 
the Art of Sinking in poetry, in which the abuse of 
figurative language is well illustrated by a variety of 
examples. 

Q. Can you give another example of a faulty metaphor, and 
correct it? 

A. “ Well indeed might he love this little mountain 
dower , for she was the last link of that broken chain 
which had bound him to the world.” 

EXERCISES ON METAPHORS. 

Fill up the blanks with the metaphorical words 
needed to complete the sense. 

“ As there are some who have naturally a meager intellect, so there are 
others whose minds seem to be barren of those finer sympathies and affec¬ 
tions of our nature which are of the soul, and upon which the 

eye always rests with pleasure.” 

“ In Romeeloquence was a of late growth and of short duration.” 

“ Fame is that pays but little attention to the living, but be¬ 

dizens the dead, furnishes out their funerals, and follows them to the 
grave.” 

“Nobility is a that sets with a constant current directly into the 
great Pacific of time ; but, unlike all other , it is more grand at 
its source than at its termination.” 

“ Many causes are now conspiring to increase the of infidelity, bu 
materialism is the main root of them all.” , 

H 


86 


ALLEGORY. 


[part II. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

OF ALLEGORY. 

Q. What is an Allegory ? 

A. It is generally considered, but incorrectly, as a 
continuation of metaphor. No continuation of meta¬ 
phor ever becomes an allegory; indeed, there are sev¬ 
eral essential properties that distinguish these figures. 
Allegory presents to immediate view the secondary 
object only; metaphor always presents the primary 
also. Metaphor always imagines one thing to be an¬ 
other; allegory, never. Every thing*asserted in the 
allegory is applied to the secondary object; every 
thing asserted in the metaphor is applied to the prin¬ 
cipal. In the metaphor there is but one meaning; in 
the allegory there are two, a literal and a figurative. 
Allegory is a veil; metaphor a perspective-glass. 

One of the finest allegories is to be found in the 
lxxxth Psalm: 

“ Thou hast brought a vine out of Egypt; thou hast cast out 
the heathen and planted it. Thou preparedst room before it, and 
didst cause it to take deep root, and it filled the land. The hills 
were covered with the shadow of it, and the boughs thereof were 
like the goodly cedars—she sent out her boughs unto the sea, and 
her branches unto the river. Why hast thou then broken down 
her hedges, so that all they which pass by do pluck her ? The 
boar out of the wood doth waste it, and the wild beast of the 
field doth devour it. Return, we beseech thee, O God of hosts • 
look down from heaven, and behold and visit this vine.” 

Allegory is more seldom employed than either met¬ 
aphor or simile. The latter require no study, and but 
a slight exertion of the imagination; but to form an 
allegory, the mind must look out for a likeness that 
will correspond in a variety of circumstances, and 
form an independent whole. 

Q. What is the best occasion for the proper allegory ? 

A. It is, when it is of importance to gain a man’s 
own judgment against himself, without exciting his 
suspicions of our intention. We all know the effect 
of the parable spoken by Nathan to David; and we 
can not fail to observe that no other form of speech 
could have supplied the place of allegory. Many of 


ALLEGORY. 


87 


PART II.J 

the parables of Christ are of the same description; 
and the Scribes and Pharisees were often obliged to 
give judgment against themselves. 

Q. Among whom did this style of writing most prevail ? 

A. Among the ancients, though many modern wri¬ 
ters have used it with good effect. 

Q. What is the chief thing to be observed in the use of this 
figure ? 

A. The great requisite is, to make it as lively and 
interesting as possible, to preserve a proper distinc¬ 
tion between the figurative expression and the literal, 
and to introduce nothing unsuitable to the nature, 
either of the thing spoken of, or of the thing alluded to. 

Q. What is to be observed concerning the length of allegories? 

A. Some are quite short, others very long. Of the 
latter kind is the “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” by John Bun- 
yan, of immortal fame. This work is an allegory, 
continued through the volume, in which the com¬ 
mencement, progress, and conclusion of the Christian 
life, are ingeniously illustrated by the similitude of a 
journey. 

A great deal of Homer and Virgil’s machinery, that 
is, of the use they make of gods and goddesses, and 
Other fictitious beings, is allegorical. Thus it is Apol¬ 
lo that raises the plague in the first book of the Iliad, 
agreeably to the old opinion that the sun, by drawing 
up noxious vapors from the earth, is the cause of pes¬ 
tilence. Thus it is Juno who instigates AEolus, in the 
first book of the iEneid, to raise a storm for destroy¬ 
ing the Roman fleet; which intimates that a certain 
disposition of the air, over which Juno was supposed 
to preside, is the cause of wind. Thus, when Pallas, 
in the beginning of the Iliad, appears to Achilles and 
forbids him to draw his sword against Agamemnon, it 
is an allegory ; and the meaning is, that Achilles was 
restrained on this occasion by his own good sense, 
Pallas being the goddess of wisdom. And when Vir¬ 
gil tells us that Juno and Venus conspired to decoy 
Dido into an amour with iEneas, it signifies that Dido 
was drawn into this amour partly by her ambition; 
Venus being the representative of the one passion and 
Juno of the other. 


88 


PERSONIFICATION. 


[part II. 

Samson’s Riddle is an allegory: “ Out of the eater 
came forth food, and out of the strong came forth 
sweetness.” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

OF PERSONIFICATION. 

Q. What do you mean by Personification ? 

A. That figure by which we attribute life, sex, and 
action to inanimate beings. 

Q. By what is this figure prompted ? 

A. Either by the exercise of an active imagination, 
or by intense feeling; and it arises from a certain 
proneness in the human mind to invest all surround¬ 
ing objects with life and activity. 

Q. What effect has it upon style l 

A. It tends both to enliven and to embellish it, be¬ 
ing, when judiciously used, one of its greatest orna¬ 
ments. 


EXAMPLE. 

“ Duty is to the affections in the conduct of life, what logic is to rhetoric 
in a discourse. Logic forms an excellent body for a discourse ; we assent 
to it, we approve it, it is good, all good, but it awakens no admiration. It 
is not till rhetoric sends its warm life-blood to mantle on the cold cheek of 
logic, and clothes its angular form in the garments of taste , that we begin 
to admire the discourse. And so it is with duty,” &c. 

Q. Is our language favorable to the use of this figure ? 

A. There is none more so, and hence, in part, its 
peculiar fitness for poetry. 

Q. To what is this to be ascribed ? 

A. To the circumstance of the distinction of gender 
in English nouns being in strict accordance with na¬ 
ture, which is not the case in many other languages. 

Q. And what advantage does this give us ? 

A. While we, on ordinary occasions, speak of in¬ 
animate objects as destitute of sex, we are enabled, 
when the occasion requires it, to dignify them by ap¬ 
pellations peculiar to males or females. 

Q. Can the same not be done in every language ? 

A. No ; for in most languages the gender of nouns 
is invariably fixed, and can not be changed at the will 
of the writer. 



PART 


n.] 


PERSONIFICATION. 


89 


Q. Can you illustrate what you have stated by example ? 

A. In speaking of the sun, on common occasions, 
we say, it rises, or it sets ; but in cases of greater mo¬ 
ment, we ascribe to it the attributes of a male, and use 
he, as Thomson, in his Seasons : 

“ But yonder comes the powerful king of day, 

Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 

The kindling azure, and the mountain’s brow, 

Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 
Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all, 

Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air, 

He looks in boundless majesty abroad; 

And sheds the shining day, that burnish’d plays 
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 
High gleaming from afar.” 

Q. In what species of writing does this figure chiefly abound ? 

A. It is used very frequently, and always with great 
propriety, in the Scriptures, as well as in the works 
of all our best poets and orators. 

Q. Will you give an example from the Scriptures? 

A. “ When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of 
Jacob from a people of strange language, the sea saw 
it, and fled; Jordan was driven back! the mountains 
skipped like rams, and the little hills like lambs.” 
“ What ailed thee, 0 thou sea, that thou fleddest 1 

Q. When may this figure be said to be abused ? 

A. When the actions ascribed to inanimate objects 
are unnatural, vulgar, or indelicate; or when the figure 
is so overstrained, as to be either ridiculous or unin¬ 
telligible. 

Point out the personifications in the following ex¬ 
amples : 

“ Avarice begets more vices than Priam did children, and, like 
Priam, survives them all. It starves its keeper to surfeit those 
who wish him dead; and makes him submit to more mortifica¬ 
tions to lose heaven, than the martyr undergoes to gain it.” 

The above example may perhaps claim the dignity 
of an allegory. 

“ Philosophy is a goddess, whose head indeed is in heaven, but 
whose feet are upon earth; she attempts more than she accom¬ 
plishes, and promises more than she performs: she can teach us 
*o hear or read of the calamities of others with magnanimity; but 
it is religion only that can teach us to bear our own with resig¬ 
nation.” 

H 2 


90 


APOSTROPHE. 


[part II. 

“ Hurry and Cunning are the two apprentices of Dispatch and 
Skill; but neither of them ever learns his master’s trade.” 

“ The greatest friend of Truth is Time; her greatest enemy is 
Prejudice, and her constant companion is Humility.” 

“ Every where new pleasures, new interests awaited me ; and 
though Melancholy, as usual, stood always near, her shadow fell 
but half way over my vagrant path, and left the rest more wel- 
comely brilliant from the contrast.” 

How beautiful is the following language, which 
represents the wind as murmuring through the pine 
trees on Mount Pelion : 

“ And Pelion shook his fiery locks, and talk’d 
Mournfully to the fields of Thessaly.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

OF APOSTROPHE. 

Q. What do you mean by an Apostrophe ? 

A. A sudden address to a dead or absent person, as 
if he were alive or present, and could hear, and be af¬ 
fected by what is spoken. 

Q. What is the character of this figure ? 

A. It is the boldest and most striking of all the 
figures, and always betokens the greatest warmth and 
fervor of mind. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. One of the most striking is that of David la¬ 
menting the death of his son Absalom: “ And the 
king was much moved, and went up to the chamber 
over the gate, and wept; and as he went, thus he said, 
O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! would 
to God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my 
son!” 

Q. Is this figure ever used in reference to inanimate objects ? 

A. Frequently; and when so employed, it is always 
blended with personification; we first personify, and 
then apostrophize. 

Q. Can you give an example of this ? 

A. “Ye mountains of Gilboa, let tnere be no dew, 
neither let there be rain upon you, nor fields of offer¬ 
ings ; for there the shield of the^mighty is vilely cast 



PART II.J APOSTROPHE. 91 

away, the shield of Saul, as though he had not been 
anointed with oil.” 

Q. When may this figure be said to be improperly applied ? 

A. When the object addressed is decked out in the 
garb of flowery language, or loaded with anv sort of 
studied ornament. 

Q. What is faulty in this ? 

A . It is contrary to nature; for this figure, being 
the product of highly-excited feeling, must never ap¬ 
pear as the result of art or labor. 

Q. Is there any other error connected with the use of this 
figure ? 

A. Yes ; there is that of extending it too far, which 
must, on all occasions, destroy its effect, as giving it 
the appearance of being too studied and artificial. 

EXAMPLES' OF APOSTROPHE. 

[Let the pupil point out the apostrophe in each.J 

Daniel Webster, in addressing the surviving patriots 
of the Revolution that were before him on a certain 
occasion, remarked: 

“ But, alas ! you are not all here ! Time and the sand have 
thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, 
Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain amid this 
broken band. You are gathered to your fathers, and live only to 
your country in her grateful remembrance and your own bright 
example.” 

E. Everett, in a Eulogy on Lafayette, spoke as 
follows: 

“You have now assembled within these celebrated walls, to 
pesSorm the last duties of respect and. love, on the birthday of 
your benefactor, beneath that roof which has resounded of old 
with the master voices of American renown. Listen, Ameri¬ 
cans, to the lessons which seem borne to us on the very air we 
breathe, while we perform these dutiful rites ! Ye winds that 
wafted the Pilgrims to the land of promise, fan, in their childrens’ 
hearts, the love of freedom! Blood, which our fathers shed, cry 
from the ground ! Echoing arches of this renowned hall, whis¬ 
per back the voices of other days! Glorious Washington, break 
the long silence of that votive canvas; speak, speak, marble lips, 
teach us the love of liberty protected by law.” 


92 


METONYMY AND SYNECDOCHE. [PART II. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

OF METONYMY AND SYNECDOCHE. 

Q. What do you understand by Metonymy ? 

A. That figure of speech by which we put the 
cause for the effect, or the effect for the cause ; the 
container for the thing contained, or the sign for the 
thing signified. 

Q. Can you give an example of each of these ? 

A. “I am reading Milton;” “Gray hairs should be 
respected ;” “ The kettle is boiling“ He has at last 
assumed the sceptre.” 

Q. Can you explain the figures here used ? 

A. Milton is taken for his works, which is the cause 
for the effect; gray hairs for old age , which is the ef¬ 
fect for the cause ; the kettle for the water in it, which 
is the container for the thing contained ; and the scep¬ 
tre for kingly power , which is the sign for the thing 
signified. 

Q. And what do you mean by Synecdoche ? 

A. That figure by which we put the whole for a 
part, or a part for the whole ; a genus for a species, 
or a species for a genus; or hny thing less, or any 
thing more, for the precise object meant. 

Q. Can you give a more full account of the synecdoche ? 

A. There are several sorts of wholes , and, conse¬ 
quently, of parts; and hence a variety of synecdoches. 
A whole genus is made up of its several species — a 
whole essence of its matter and its form —a whole sys¬ 
tem of its several parts or members —whence three sy¬ 
necdoches when we use the name of the whole for a 
part, and other three when we use the name of a part 
for the whole : so this trope may be used in six dif¬ 
ferent forms. 

(1.) When the name of the genus is put for that of 
one of the species comprehended under it;. as when 
we call a dull man a stupid animal. 

(2.) When the name of a species is put for that of 
the genus; as when we speak of a garrison put to the 
sword , that is, killed by warlike weapons in general; 
or when a man is said to get his bread by his industry 


PART II.] CLIMAX AND ENUMERATION 93 

that is, to get the necessaries of life , of which bread is 
only one species. 

(3.) When the name of the whole essence is put for 
one of its constituent parts , as in epitaphs, “here lies 
such a manf that is, the body of such a man. 

(4.) The reverse of this ; as, “ I can not change 
your shilling, for I have no copper ,” that is, copper coin 
Thus soul is put for person : “ this town contains two 
thousand souls.” We say, too, a good soul , a dear 
soul. We also speak of ten head of cattle. This last 
mode of speaking, in which the noun does not take 
the plural termination even when plurality is signified, 
we use of beasts only, or of men in contempt; as 
when Pope says, “ a hundred head of Aristotle’s 
friends,” where a double contempt is intended, first, 
that the commentators on Aristotle were as dull as 
oxen or cattle; and, secondly, that, as individuals, they 
were so insignificant and had so little character, that 
they deserved to be reckoned by the dozen only, or 
by the hundred. 

(5.) The fifth form of the synecdoche is, when the 
name of any part of any material system is put for the 
ivhole; as when we speak of a sail , meaning a ship at 
sea, or say, all hands were at work, meaning the men. 

(6.) When the name of a whole system is put for 
that of a part of it; as when, in ancient authors, the 
Homan Empire is called the world. 

Q. To what figure is synecdoche most allied ? 

A. To metonymy; both being figures of a similar 
kind, but founded upon different relations. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

OF CLIMAX AND ENUMERATION. 

Q. What do you mean by a Climax ? 

A. A series of members in a sentence, each rising 
ki importance above the one which precedes it, from 
the first to the last. 

Q. When may a climax be considered as best constructed ? 

A. When*the last idea of the former member be- 



94 CLIMAX AND ENUMERATION. [ PAET U 

comes the first of the latter, and so on to the end of 
the series. 

Q. Can you give an example of this figure ? 

A. “ What hope is there remaining of liberty, if whatever is 
their pleasure, it is lawful for them to do ; if what is lawful foi 
them to do, they are able to do ; if what they are able to do, they 
dare do; if what they dare do, they really execute; and if what 
they execute is no way offensive to you ?” 

Q. What is the character of this figure ? 

A. It is extremely beautiful; and, when properly 
managed, is calculated to make a powerful impression 
upon the mind of the reader or hearer. 

Q. By whom is it chiefly used 'l 

A. Chiefly by orators, though other writers also 
frequently avail themselves of its use. 

Q. What is Enumeration 1 

A. A series of particulars merely, without that 
gradual increase in point of importance, which the 
climax exhibits, and necessarily implies. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. “ The Bible is, beyond all controversy, the best book of ed¬ 
ucation in the world. It is the best book for the formation of 
children’s minds, the best book for their acquisition and preser¬ 
vation of a pure idiomatic style in their national language, the 
best book to promote and secure the purposes of family govern¬ 
ment, the best book to make our children enlightened and good 
citizens of the republic, the best book, in fine, to preserve them 
from all evil, and train them up in all good.”— Cheever. 

Q. Are not climax and enumeration sometimes conjoined ? 

A . They are in the above example, but more so in 
the following: 

“ How small a portion of our life it is that we really enjoy. In 
youth, we are looking forward to things that are to come ; in old 
age we are looking backward to things that are gone past; in man¬ 
hood, although we appear, indeed, to be more occupied in things 
that are present, yet even that is too often absorbed in vague de¬ 
terminations to be vastly happy on some future day, when we 
have time.”— Colton. 

Daniel Webster once uttered the following memorable climax 
“ Let our object be our country, our whole country, and nothing 
but our country.” 

The landing of the Pilgrims, in 1620, has been thus 
painted by G. B. Cheever in his Lectures on Bunyan : 

“ It is a lowering winter’s day; on a const, rock-bound and per¬ 
ilous, sheeted with ice and snow, hovers a small Vessel, worn and 


ANTITHESIS. 


95 


PART II.] 

weary, like a bird with wet plumage, driven in a storm from its 
nest, and timidly seeking shelter. It is the Mayflower, thrown 
on the bosom of Winter. The very sea is freezing : the earth is 
as still as the grave, covered with snow, and as hard as iron; 
there is no sign of a human habitation; the deep forests have lost 
their foliage, and rise over the land like a shadowy congregation 
of skeletons. Yet there is a band of human beings on board that 
weather-beaten vessel, and they have voluntarily come to this 
savage coast to spend the rest of their lives, and to die there. 
Eight thousand miles they have struggled across the ocean, from 
a land of plenty and comfort, from their own beloved country, 
from their homes, firesides, friends, to gather around an altar to 
God, in the winter, in the wilderness ! What does it all mean ? 
It marks to a noble mind, the invaluable blessedness of freedom 
to worship God.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

OF ANTITHESIS. 

Q. What do you understand by Antithesis ? 

A. “ It is a figure by which words and ideas very dif¬ 
ferent, or contrary, are placed together in contrast or 
opposition , that they may mutually set off and illustrate 
each other.” 

Q. To what figure is antithesis most opposed ? 

A. To comparison, which is founded on resem¬ 
blance ; while antithesis is founded on contrast or op¬ 
position. 

Q. For what purpose are objects generally contrasted ? 

A. For the purpose of more strongly marking their 
difference ; as white never appears so bright as when 
contrasted with black. 

Q. Is it a common figure ? 

A. Perhaps the most so of any, as all writers occa¬ 
sionally use it, and many very frequently. 

Q. Can you give any examples of its use ? 

A. “ Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, 

Pate, but intrepid; sad, but unsubdued .” 

Q. What is the chief rule for the use of this figure ? 

A. To introduce it but sparingly, and let the ground 
of the contrast be always of a solid nature, not de¬ 
pending upon mere caprice; for “ antithesis may be 
the blossom of wit, but it will never arrive at maturi¬ 
ty unless sound sense be the trunk and truth the root.” 



96 


ANTITHESIS. 


[part II. 


Q. What effect have unnatural antitheses upon style ? 

A. They render it stiff and affected, and. give it too 
much of a contentious air. 

Q. Is antithesis always confined to single words ? 

A. No ; for one sentence or one paragraph, as well 
as one word, may be, and often is, set in opposition 
to another. 

A fine example of this is the following paragraph 
from the “ Poetry of Life,” by Mrs. Ellis, designed to 
show the wonderful adaptation of the Bible to every 
variety of human nature, feeling, and condition, as one 
of the clearest evidences of its Divine origin: 

“ Coeval with the infancy of time—it still remains, and widens 
in the circle of its intelligence. Simple as the language of a 
child—it charms the most fastidious taste. Mournful as the voice 
of grief—it reaches to the highest pitch of exultation. Intelligi¬ 
ble to the unlearned peasant—it supplies the critic and the sage 
with food for earnest thought. Silent and secret as the reproofs 
of conscience—it echoes beneath the vaulted dome of the cathe¬ 
dral, and shakes the trembling multitude. The last companion 
of the dying and destitute—it seals the bridal vow, and crowns 
the majesty of kings. Closed in the heedless grasp of the luxu¬ 
rious and the slothful—it unfolds its awful record over the yawn¬ 
ing grave. Bright and joyous as the morning star to the benight¬ 
ed traveler—it rolls like the waters of the deluge over the path 
of him who willfully mistakes his way.” 

EXERCISES. 

Fill up the blanks in the following antitheses: 

1. The science of the mathematics performs more than it promises, but 
the science of metaphysics 

2. It shows much more stupidity to be grave at a good thing than 

3. It has been well observed that the tongue discovers the state of the 

mind no less than ; but in either case, before the philoso¬ 

pher or the physician can judge, the patient must open his mouth. Taci 
turnity is wise if men are fools, but 

4. If you would be known and not , vegetate in a village ; it 

you would , and not , live in a 

5. The society of dead authors lias this advantage over , that 

they never flatter us to our faces, nor slander us behind our backs. 

6. Examinations are formidable to the best prepared, for the gieatest 
fool may ask more than the 

7. It is better to have recourse to a quack, if he can cure our disorder, al¬ 
though he can not explain it, than 

8. There is this difference between happiness and wisdom; he that 
thinks himself the happiest man really is so, but he that 

9. An Ir.ishm.an fights before he reasons ; a Scotchman 

10. As modesty is the richest ornament of a woman, the want of it } 
for tne better the thing, the worse will ever be its perversion ; and if an 
angel falls, the transition must be to 


PART II.] HYPERBOLE AND IRONY. 97 

11. Where we can not invent, we may at least improve; we may give 
somewhat of novelty to , condensation to ,jperspicuity to , 
and currency to 

12. It is sufficiently humiliating to our nature, to reflect that our knowl 
edge is but as the rivulet, our 

13. He that will not permit his wealth to do any good to others while he 
is alive, prevents 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

OF HYPERBOLE AND IRONY. 

Q. What do you understand by Hyperbole? 

A. The representation of a thing as either far great¬ 
er, or far less, better or worse, than it is in reality: 
greater, as when we call a tall person a giant, or stee¬ 
ple ; less, as when we say of a lean man he is a mere 
skeleton, or a shadow. 

Q. On what is this figure founded ? 

A. On that propensity in human nature, which 
prompts either to extol or vilify, beyond measure, 
whatever excites admiration or creates dislike. 

Q. Of what, then, is it generally the result ? 

A. Either of strong passion, or of want of due dis¬ 
crimination. 

Q. Is it a common figure of speech ? 

A. Very common in the conversation of passionate 
and ignorant people ; and it is frequently to be found 
in the compositions of all bombastic writers. 

Q. Is it, then, a figure always to be avoided ? 

A. By no means; it gives vivacity to the expres¬ 
sion, and sometimes entertains by presenting a ludi¬ 
crous image; and it may be, and often is used with 
excellent effect, especially when it is the spontaneous 
result of strong feeling. 

Q. Can you give examples of this latter kind ? 

A. “ They were swifter than eagles; they were 
stronger than lions.” “ Rivers of waters run down 
mine eyes because they keep not thy law.” 

What do you mean by Irony ? 

A. The expression of strong reproof or censure, 
under the appearance of praise. 

Q. How, then, must the true meaning be known ? 

A. By the circumstances of the speaker in relation 
to the object that he means to censure. 



98 HYPERBOLE AND IRONY. [PART II. 

Q. What end does irony serve ? 

A. It often gives greater poignancy to reproof, as it 
is generally calculated to bring ridicule upon the ob¬ 
ject to which it is applied. 

Q. How is it best applied ? 

A. In reproving folly or vice ; for, as applied to 
persons, it more frequently produces irritation than 
amendment. 

Q. Can you give an example of this figure ? 

A. In saying of a very impudent fellow, “ A per¬ 
son of his distinguished modesty could surely not be 
guilty of such a deed,” would be an instance of strong 
irony, in which is said the very opposite of what is 
intended. 

Q. What is the rule for the use of hyperbole and irony ? 

A. To use them both as sparingly as possible. 

In regard to hyperbole , care is to be taken, in the 
•use of it, not to lead others into any mistake concern¬ 
ing the real nature of things. The frequent use of 
this figure is offensive to persons of taste, and also to 
those who have a strict regard for truth. 

It is not needful to present exercises for the prac¬ 
tice of the student, as every person is liable, without 
instruction, to a too frequent use of this figure. 

In regard to irony , it is sometimes entertaining, by 
giving variety and vivacity to discourse, but becomes 
offensive when too frequent. It has been employed 
by teachers of respectable and even of sacred charac¬ 
ters, in exposing folly and absurdity. For instances, 
see 1 Kings, xviii., 27; Eccles., xi., 9 ; Mark, vii., 9. 
Socrates used it happily for the instruction of his 
friends and the confutation of the sophists, and thence 
got the name of 'O eipuv, or the ironical philosopher. 

Care should be taken in the use of this trope, that 
there be such a choice of words and such an accent 
in pronunciation, as that our meaning may not be mis¬ 
understood ; and with respect to all other tropes and 
figures, care should be taken that our meaning be 
cleared and enforced, but never obscured or weaken¬ 
ed, by the use of them. 

Q. Can you give an illustration of the danger sometimes attend¬ 
ant upon the use of irony and raillery l 


HYPERBOLE AND IRONY. 


99 


PART II.] 

A. The talented author of “ Lacon,” having re¬ 
marked that some good-natured fellows have thus lost 
their lives, at the hands of a foe who found it easier 
to point a sword than a repartee, proceeds to illus¬ 
trate his position as follows : 

“ I have heard of a man in the province of Bengal, who had 
been a long time very successful in hunting the tiger. His skill 
gained him great eclat, and insured him much diversion ; at length 
he narrowly escaped with his life ; he then relinquished the sport 
with this observation: ‘ Tiger hunting is very fine amusement, 
so long as we hunt the tiger, but it is rather awkward when the 
tiger takes it into his head to hunt us.’ 

“ Again, this skill in small wit, like skill in small arms, is very 
apt to beget a confidence which may prove fatal in the end. We 
may either mistake the proper moment, for even cowards have 
their fighting days, or we may mistake the proper man. A cer¬ 
tain Savoyard got his livelihood by exhibiting a monkey and a 
bear. He gained so much applause from his tricks with the 
monkey, that he was encouraged to practice some of them on the 
bear. He was dreadfully lacerated, and on being rescued with 
great difficulty from the gripe of Bruin, he exclaimed, ‘ What a 
fool was I not to distinguish between a monkey and a bear! A 
bear, my friends, is a very grave kind of personage, and, as you 
plainly see, does not understand a joke!’ ” 

EXAMPLES OF IRONY. 

Modern Improvements. — Halleck. 

We owe the ancients something. You have read 
Their works, no doubt—at least, in a translation; 

Yet there was argument in what he said, 

I scorn equivocation or evasion, 

And own, it must, in candor, be confess’d, 

They were an ignorant set of men at best. 

’Twas their misfortune to be born too soon 
By centuries, and in the wrong place, too; 

They never saw a steam-boat or balloon, 

Velocipede, or Quarterly Review ; 

Or wore a pair of Back’s black satin breeches, 

Or read an almanac, or C-n’s speeches. 

In short, in every thing we far outshine them— 

Art, science, taste, and talent; and a stroll 
Through this enlighten’d city would refine ’em 
More than ten years’ hard study of the whole 
Their genius has produced, of rich and rare— 

God bless the corporation and the mayor! 


100 INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION, [pART II 

And on our City Hall a justice stands; 

A neater form was never made of board; 

Holding majestically in her hands 
A pair of steelyards and a wooden sword, 

And looking down with complaisant civility— 

Emblem of dignity and durability. 

A finer example of irony can scarcely be found 
than the prose article by Washington Irving on the 
“ Right of the Colonists to America,” quoted in the 
“ Young Ladies’ Reader,” by Mrs. Tuthill, an excel¬ 
lent work for classes, as a storehouse of rhetorical 
illustrations. 

Shakspeare abounds in examples of hyperbole. It 
is heard, also, if not practiced, every day in conversa 
tion. Junius abounds in irony and satire. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

OF INTERROGATION AND EXCLAMATION. 

Q. What do you mean by Interrogation 1 

A. Such a form of speech as serves to put in form 
of a question what is meant to be strongly affirmative. 

Q. Is interrogation always used figuratively? 

A. It is never so used when employed to make in¬ 
quiry about any thing of which one is ignorant. 

Q. When may it be said to be used figuratively ? 

A. Only when so used that, under the form of a 
question, it serves the purpose of strong declaration. 

Q. Can you exemplify this ? 

A. “ Canst thou by searching find out God 1 Canst 
thou find out the Almighty unto perfection 1” 

Q. What is implied in these questions ? 

A. A strong declaration that the Supreme Being is 
quite incomprehensible, and can not be found out. 

Q. Is this a common figure ? 

A. Very much so; and it is often the strongest 
mode of reasoning, as implying the absence of all 
doubt respecting the object of the interrogation. 

Q. What do you understand by Exclamation ? 

A. A mode of expression which exhibits great emo¬ 
tion of mind. 



101 


PART II.] VISION AND ALLITERATION. 

Q. By what is it generally produced ? 

A. By the deep or lively sense which we have of 
the greatness or importance of any object. 

Q. In what does it differ from interrogation ? 

A. Chiefly in its being the language of passion and 
emotion; while interrogation is principally that of 
reason and judgment. 

Q. Can you give an example of this figure ? 

A. “ O the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom 
and the knowledge of God! How unsearchable are 
his judgments, and his ways past finding out!” 

Q. Is this figure ever combined with any other ? 

A. It is often combined with climax, as in the fol¬ 
lowing example : “ What a piece of work is man! 
how noble in reason! how infinite in faculties! in ac¬ 
tion, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a 
god!” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


OF VISION AND ALLITERATION. 


Q. What do you mean by Vision? 

A. That figure by which past, future, or distant ob¬ 
jects are described as if they were actually present 
to the view of the speaker or writer. 

Q. To what sort of composition is this figure adapted ? 

A . Only to such as is highly glowing and passionate. 

Q. What effect has it when properly introduced ? 

A. It excites deep interest in the objects contem¬ 
plated, and makes us fancy we see them present be¬ 
fore our eyes. 

Q. Can you give an example of this ? 

A. Cheever, in the use of this figure, thus describes 
Bunyan, when in prison, nearly two hundred years 


ago: 

“ And now it is evening. A rude lamp glimmers darkly on the 
table, the tagged laces are laid aside, and Bunyan, alone, is busy 
with his Bible, the concordance, and his pen, ink, and paper. He 
writes as though ioy did make him write. His pale, worn coun¬ 
tenance is lighted with a fire, as if reflected from the radiant jas 
per walls of the Celestial City. He writes, and smiles, and clasps 
his hands, and looks upward, and blesses God for his goodness, 

I 2 



102 OTHER SECONDARY TROPES. [PART ir. 

and then again turns to his writing. The last you see of him 
for the night, he is alone, kneeling on the floor of his prison; he 
is alone, with God.” 

For another example, see the quotation from the 
same writer in chap. xxiv. 

Q. What do you mean by Alliteration ? 

A. The use of such words, at certain intervals, as 
begin with or contain the same letter. 

Q. Is this figure much in use ? 

A . It is very much in use by our best poets, and 
even sometimes by prose writers. 

Q. On what is this figure founded ? 

A. On that pleasure which the ear feels in the re¬ 
currence of similar sounds at regular and stated dis¬ 
tances. 

Q. Can you give any examples ? 

A. “ .Ruin seize thee, ruthless king.” 

“ Up the Aigh Aill Ae leaves a Auge round stone.” 

“ (Softly sweet in Lydian measures, 

(Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 

“ To Aigh-born Hoel's Aarp, or soft .LZeweZZyn’s Zay. 

Q. Is this figure always the effect of study ? 

A. In some instances it may be purely accidental, 
and on these occasions it is always most natural, and 
its effects are then by far the most pleasing. 

Q. What is the best and most general rule for all the figures 
of speech ? 

A. It is, never to make a deliberate search after 
them ; use them only when they rise spontaneously 
out of the subject; never pursue them too far; and 
let them always be such as enforce and illustrate, as 
well as embellish a subject. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

OTHER SECONDARY TROPES. 

Q. What are secondary tropes 1 

A. Those which may be resolved into the primary which 
are metaphor, metonymy, synecdoche, and irony. 

Q. What is Antonomasia ? 

A. It is a sort of synecdoche which we use when we put 



PART II.] OTHER SECONDARY TROPES. 103 

a genera] term for a proper name, or a proper name for a 
general term: as when Aristotle calls Homer, the poet; as 
when we call a great warrior, an Alexander; a great orator, 
a Demosthenes; a great patron of learning, a Maecenas. This 
trope may also be used when we intend to convey a lively 
image to the mind, as in that line of Milton, 

“ O’er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp.” 

Q. What is to be said of the use of this figure 1 

A. When too frequent, it makes language obscure, affect¬ 
ed, or ostentatious of learning. It should never be used 
when the character alluded to may be supposed to be un¬ 
known to the reader or hearer. 

Q. What is meant by the trope that is called communica¬ 
tion ? 

A. It is when, from modesty, or respect to our hearers, 
we say we instead of I or you. It is a trope which puts 
many for one. 

Q. What is Litotes or Extenuation ? 

A. It is used when we do not express so much as we 
mean, and whieh, therefore, may also be resolved into sy¬ 
necdoche, as when we say, “ I can not commend you for 
that,” meaning, “ I greatly blame you.” “ The news I have 
to communicate will not be very agreeable” means “will 
be very disagreeable.” 

Q. What trope is nearly related to litotes 1 

A. Euphemism , as when it is said of the martyr Stephen 
that “ he fell asleep,” instead of “ he died,” the euphemism 
partakes of the nature of metaphor, intimating a resem¬ 
blance L etween sleep and the death of such a person. 

Q. What is Catachresis or Abusio ? 

A. It means improper use, and is any trope, especially a 
metaphor, so strong as to border on impropriety by seeming 
to confound the nature of things, as when we call the young 
of beasts “ their sons and daughtersor the instinctive 
economy of bees “their government;” or when the goat is 
called in Virgil “the husband of the flock;” when Moses 
calls wine “ the blood of the grape;” for nothing but an 
animal can have blood; and sons, daughters, husbands, gov¬ 
ernment, belong to rational beings only. We sometimes use 
this figure from necessity, because we have no other way 
so convenient to express our meaning, as when we say, a 
silver candle stick , a glass ink horn 


104 MISCELLANEOUS FIGURES OF SPEECH. [PART II, 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

MISCELLANEOUS FIGURES OF SPEECH. 

Q. What is the difference between Tropes and Figures ? 

A. A trope is the name of one thing applied emphatically 
to express another thing; a figure is a phrase, expression, 
sentence, or continuation of sentences, used in a sense dif¬ 
ferent from the original and proper sense, and yet so used 
as not to occasion obscurity. Tropes affect single words, 
chiefly; figures affect phrases and sentences. 

Q. What is Asyndeton ? 

A. It is the omission of connective words in a sentence 
to give the idea*of rapidity and energy. “ I came, saw, con • 
ouered.” 

Q. What is Polysyndeton ? 

A. It is the full insertion of connectives for the purpose 
of retarding the progress of the narrative, that every partic 
ular may be considered by the mind. “You have ships, 
and men, and money, and stores, and all other things which 
constitute the strength of the citv.” Dr. Chalmers is fond 
of the use of this figure. 

Q. What is Repetition ? 

A. It occurs when the same word in sound and sense is 
repeated, or ohe of a like sound or signification, or both. 

The following is a fine specimen of repetition in reference 
to the Bible. “ The book of the world's Creator and the 
world's Governor, the record of the world's history and the 
world's duty, the world's sin and the world's salvation, it will 
endure while that woild lasts, and continue to claim its 
present authority as long as that government over the pres¬ 
ent world may continue.” 

The above is an instance also of Pleonasm , which, though 
often enfeebling to style, as has been shown heretofore, 
is yet often a figure of great beauty. So, also, sometimes 
is ellipsis, its opposite. The latter hurries over its objects, 
the former detains them as long as possible ; and though at 
first sight it may appear strange that such opposite modes 
of speech should both be ornamental to style, they are alike 
founded in nature, and alike available to the purposes of the 
poet and the orator. They can not, indeed, both be beauti¬ 
ful in the same situation; but each has its proper place, 
which could not be supplied by the other. Pleonasm em¬ 
ploys a redundancy of expression, not, however, wit t 


ALLUSIONS, 


105 


PART II.] 

intention and effect. I saw it with my eyes. “ Could you 
see it with your mouth 1” replies the cynic. Both nature 
and the most correct taste interpret such phraseology, and 
give important meaning to the apparent redundancy. 

Sometimes, after a general statement, various particulars 
are enumerated to express the deep impression made on the 
mind of the speaker. Milton speaks thus with respect to 
his blindness : 

“ Nor to these idle orbs does day appear, 

Or sun, or moon, or stars, throughout the year, 

Or man, or woman.” 

After stating that he did not perceive the light of day, we 
needed not to be informed that he could not discern these 
other objects. But the person who should call this tautolo¬ 
gy would be as devoid of soul as an orang-outang. We 
can participate in the feelings of the poet, and brood with 
him over the objects of his regret. It soothes his melancholy 
to dwell on his bereavement, and it gives us a sad pleasure 
to accompany him. 

It is from a like principle that earnestness expresses its ob¬ 
ject again and again in nearly the same words , as in the 
Psalms of David; also in his lament over Absalom, than 
which, nothing could be more affecting. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

OF ALLUSIONS. 

Style is much improved and embellished by refer¬ 
ence to what is found in writers of established reputa¬ 
tion —to facts in history—in art—commerce, and other 
departments of human effort. The reference is not 
so formal as in comparison, but is founded on the' 
same principles, and is followed by equally pleasing 
results in the mind of the reader, by awakening grate¬ 
ful associations. What we mean may be exhibited 
most clearly by examples. 

1. Scriptural Allusions. 

These should be sparingly and chastely introduced. The 
practice of some writers, both in periodical and other lit¬ 
erature, of introducing them on trifling and low subjects 



106 


ALLUSIONS. 


[part II. 

for the sake of giving point to their wit, ridicule, or satire, 
can not be too severely condemned for its demoralizing in¬ 
fluence in bringing the solemn truths of Scripture into an 
unhallowed familiarity; but no allusions, when judiciously 
introduced, are more happy in their influence on the mind. 

John Q. Adams, in the close of his discourse on the Con 
stitution of the United States, after describing the facts of 
sacred history relative to the curse put upon Mount Ebal. 
and the blessing upon Mount Gerizim, happily adds : 

“ Fellow-citizens, the ark of your covenant is the Declara¬ 
tion of Independence. Your Mount Ebal is the confederacy 
of separate state sovereignties, and your Mount Gerizim is the 
Constitution of the United States. In that scene of tre¬ 
mendous and awful solemnity, narrated in the Holy Scrip¬ 
tures, there is not a curse pronounced against the people upon 
Mount Ebal, not a blessing promised them upon Mount Geri¬ 
zim, which your posterity may not suffer or enjoy, from your 
and their adherence to, or departure from, the principles of 
the Declaration of Independence, practically interwoven in 
the Constitution of the United States. Lay up these princi¬ 
ples, then, in your hearts, and in your souls—bind them for 
signs, ” &c., &c. 

“ Now it is a melancholy pity, when a man’s philosophy, 
instead of being the angel that steps down into the Bethesda of 
his speculations, to trouble its waters to effect a cure, only 
perplexes the depth of his being, and turns up mire and 
dirt.” 

“ If those alone who * sowed to the wind, did reap the 
whirlwind,’ it would be well.” 

“ Hypocrisy is a cruel stepmother, an l injusta newerca ’ to 
the honest, whom she cheats of her birthright, in order to 
confer it on knaves, to whom she is indeed a mother. 
‘ Verily, they have their reward.' ” 

The first part of the above quotation is a classical 
allusion and belongs to the next head. 

2. Classical Allusions —(ancient). 

“ The mob is a monster with the hands of Briareus, but the 
head of Polyphemus —strong to execute, but blind to per¬ 
ceive.” 

“ The learning of Burke was something which he always 
carried with ease and wielded with dexterity. At one time 
it was the rattling quiver of Apollo , from which he drew many 


PART II.] ALLUSIONS. 107 

a feathered shaft; at another it was a battle-axe in his 
hands, which would cleave the toughest skull.” 

Another example: 

“To give the semblance of purity to the substance of cor¬ 
ruption is to proffer the poison of Circe in a crystal goblet.” 

Again: 

“ Eloquence, to produce her full effect, should start from 
the head of the orator, as Pallas from the brain of Jove com¬ 
pletely armed and equipped. 

Again: 

“There are many moral Actions who are as miserably 
devoured by objects of their own choosing, as was the fabu¬ 
lous one by his own hounds.” 

3. Classical Allusions —(modern). 

“We can not aspire to so high a character on cheaper 
terms, otherwise FalsUff's soldiers might be allowed their 
claim, since they are afraid of nothing but danger.” 

The allusion is here to a character in Shakspeare’s plays, 
and awakens pleasing associations in those who admire 
Shakspeare. So is it with classical allusions in those who 
have read and appreciated the ancient classics. 

4. Mathematical Allusions. 

“ The art of destruction seems to have proceeded geo¬ 
metrically, while the art of preservation can not be said to 
have advanced even in a plain arithmetical progression .” 

“ Subtract from many modern poets all that may be found 
m Shaksoeare and trash will remain .” 

5. Historical Allusions. 

“Avarice begets more vices than Priam did children, and, 
like Priam, survives them all.” 

6. Astronomical Allusions. 

“ There may be intellectual food which the present state 
of society is not fit to partake of; to lay such before it, 
would be as absurd as to give a quadrant to an Indian.” 

7. Allusions to other Branches of Physical Science. 

One thing I may affirm, that I have first considered 
whether it be worth while to say any thing at all, before I 
have taken any trouble to say it well; knowing that words 
are but air, and that both arc capable of much condensation 


108 


WIT. 


[part II. 

“ Knowledge is indeed as necessary as light, and in this 
coming age most fairly promises to be as common as water 
and as free as air. But as it has been wisely ordained that 
light should have no color, water no taste, and air no odor, so 
knowledge also should be equally pure and without admix¬ 
ture.” 

“ Too close a contiguity is as inimical to distinct vision, as 
too great a distance ; and hence it happens that a man often 
knows the least of that which is most near him—even his 
own heart.” 

8. Legal Allusions. 

“ When we apply to the conduct of the ancient Romans 
the pure and unbending principles of Christianity, we try 
those noble delinquents unjustly, inasmuch as we condemn 
them by the severe sentence of an ( ex post facto' law ” 

9. Allusions to Natural History. 

“ In another publication I have quoted an old writer, who 
observes, ‘ That we fatten a sheep with grass, not in order 
to obtain a crop of hay from his back, but in the hope that 
he will feed us with mutton and clothe us with wool.’ We 
may apply this to the sciences,” &c. 

10. Commercial Allusions. 

“ The excesses of our youth are drafts upon our old age,- 
payable with interest about thirty years after-date .” 

From the above quotations it will be seen that allusions 
may be drawn from a great variety of sources—from the 
sciences and the arts—from books ancient and modern, and 
from Nature—and that they serve, like various figures of 
speech, to enliven discourse and adorn style. To be able 
to excel in the use of them, our knowledge can not be too 
extensive and exact, nor our taste too well cultivated and 
judgment too well improved, to determine when, and how, 
and what to introduce, by way of allusion. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

OF WIT. 

The term wit is appropriated to such thoughts md 
expressions as are ludicrous, and also occasion some 
surprise by their singularity. 



WIT. 


109 


PART II.] 

Wit in the thought consists of a junction of things 
by distant and fanciful relations, which surprise be 
cause they are unexpected. For example : 

“ We grant, although he had much wit, 

He was very shy of using it, 

As being loth to wear it out; 

And therefore bore.it not about. 

Unless on holydays or so, 

As men their best apparel do.” 

The unexpected discovery of resemblance between 
things supposed to be unlike, when it is clearly ex¬ 
pressed in few words, constitutes what is commonly 
called wit, and is a very copious source of pleasantry. 
Such is that comparison in Hudibras, of the dawn of 
the morning to a boiled lobster: 

“ Like a lobster boil’d, the morn 
From black to red began to turn.” 

At first there seems to be no resemblance at all; but 
when we recollect that the lobster’s color is, by boil¬ 
ing, changed from dark to red, we recognize a like¬ 
ness to that change of color in the sky which happens 
at daybreak. 

Wit, as distinguished from humor , may consist of a 
single brilliant thought; but humor runs in a vein ; it 
is not a striking, but an equable and pleasing flow of 
wit. Addison is a fine example of the latter. Satire 
and irony are personal and censorious kinds of wit, 
the first of which openly points at the object, and the 
second in a covert manner takes its aim. Burlesque 
is rather a species of humor than direct wit, which 
consists in an assemblage of ideas extravagantly dis¬ 
cordant. The quality of humor belongs to a writer 
who, affecting to be grave and serious, paints his ob¬ 
jects in such colors as to provoke mirth and laughter. 

I. Wit in the expression , commonly called a play of 
words , is a low sort of wit, of which Lord Karnes has 
exhibited many examples, some of them, however, 
not remarkable for their delicacy. 

This sort of wit depends, for the most part, upon 
choosing a word that has different significations, and 
using it so as to produce amusement; a kind of amus<* 


110 


WIT. 


[part II. 

ment relished most, however, by those whose literary 
taste is not much improved. It was in high repute du¬ 
ring the reigns of Elizabeth and James I., as would ap¬ 
pear from the frequency of this play upon words in 
the writings not only of Shakspeare, but of grave and 
learned divines. 

Lord Karnes has distinguished it into several classes: 

(1.) Where there is a seeming resemblance from 
the double meaning of a word. 

“ Beneath this stone my wife doth lie. 

She’s now at rest , and so am I.” 

(2.) A seeming contrast from the same cause, term¬ 
ed a verbal antithesis. 

“ When Nelson fought his battle in the Sound, it was the re¬ 
sult alone that decided whether he was to kiss a hand at court , or 
a rod at a court-martial.’* ;_; 

(3.) Other seeming connections from the same 
cause. 

“ To whom the knight with comely grace 
Put off his hat, to put his case.” 

“ Here thou, great Anna ! whom three realms obey, 
i Dost sometimes counsel take, and sometimes tea.” 

“ This general (Prince Eugene) is a great taker of snuff as well 
as of towns.” 

(4.) A seeming opposition from the same cause. 

“ Cold is that breast which warm’d the world before.” ' 

Playing with words is not ludicrous when the sub¬ 
ject is really grave, and should not be employed in 
such a case at all. 

A parody enlivens a gay subject by imitating some 
important incident that is serious. It is ludicrous, 
but ridicule is not a necessary ingredient, though 
sometimes employed in it. 

II. In regard to the other branch of wit—wit in the 
thought—it consists, first, of ludicrous images : sec¬ 
ondly, of ludicrous combinations and oppositions. Of 
the latter, 

(1.) Fanciful causes are assigned that have no nat¬ 
ural relation to the effects produced. 

“ The trenchant blade, Toledo trusty, 

For want of fighting was grown rusty, 


PART II.] GENERAL RULES FOR COMPOSITION. Ill 


And ate into itself, for lack 
Of somebody to hew and hack.” 

To account for effects by tracing them to a fanciful 
cause, is highly improper in any serious composition. 

(2.) Ludicrous junction of small things with great, 
as of equal importance. *' 

“ Then flash’d the living- lightning from her eyes, 

And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies. 

Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, 

When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last.” 

(3.) Premises that promise much and perform noth¬ 
ing. 

“ With money enough in Mis purse, such a man would win any 
woman in the world, if he could get her good-will.” 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF PASSAGES CONTAINING FIGU¬ 
RATIVE LANGUAGE. 

Blair’s Critical Lectures on Addison should here be read to 
the class; and when compositions are criticised before, or by, the 
class, the errors and the beauties in the use of figurative language 
ihould be pointed out. (See Part VIII., Chap, iii.) 

The teacher should also dire.ct the attention of his pupils to the 
figures which occur in their ordinary reading lessons, and elicit re 
marks upon them. 


CHAPTER XL. 

OF THE MORE GENERAL RULES FOR COMPOSITION. 

Q. On what, from all that has been said, do you consider accu¬ 
rate composition to depend ? 

A. On the selection and arrangement of words 
proper for expressing the thoughts which we intend 
to communicate. 

Q. On what, again, do these depend ? 

A. On a knowledge of grammar in all its branches, 
and an intimate acquaintance with the meaning of 
words. 

Q . What renders these so essential ? 




112 GENERAL RULES FOR COMPOSITION. [PART II. 

A. The circumstance that, without the one, we can 
not select, nor, without the other, arrange with pro¬ 
priety. 

Q. And how are these to be obtained ? 

A. Only by reading and study, combined with con¬ 
stant attention to the mode in which we express our 
thoughts, as compared with that of good writers and 
speakers. 

Q. What is farther requisite ? 

A. An intimate knowledge of the subject on which 
we desire either to speak or write. 

Q. How comes this to be so necessary ? 

A. Because no man, whatever be his knowledge of 
language, can either speak or write well on a subject 
of which he is totally ignorant. 

Q. How is this knowledge to be obtained ? 

A. To all knowledge there is but one path, and that 
is, constant study and attentive observation. 

Q. Is .any thing farther necessary ? 

A. Yes ; for, in addition to the requisite knowledge, 
we must have great practice before we can compose 
well. 

Q. What proof have you of this ? 

A. Men, possessing extensive information, can often 
speak well upon a variety of subjects, but yet, from 
want of practice, can write well upon none. 

Q. On what subjects should a person write in order to gain this 
practice ? 

A. Such subjects as he perfectly understands; be¬ 
ginning with the more simple, and proceeding gradu¬ 
ally to those of greater difficulty, according to the ex¬ 
tent of his information. 

Q. What will be the consequence of a person writing upon 
what he does not properly understand? 

A. He will write in a stiff, affected, and unnatural 
style, such as no person will either hear or read with 
any pleasure. 

<4- What are requisite for attaining eminence in composition ? 

A. Genius and taste ; the former to prompt, the lat¬ 
ter to correct and polish. 

Q. How is ease in composition best attained ? 

A. By writing fearlessly and boldly; but, at the 
same time, guarding against every thing like extrava¬ 
gance either of sentiment or manner. 


PART III. 

OF DIFFERENT KINDS OF COMPOSITION. 


Q. What are the principal divisions belonging to literary Com¬ 
position ? 

A. They are those of prose and poetry. 

Q. What do you understand by prose composition 

A. The common and ordinary manner of express¬ 
ing our thoughts, whether in speaking or writing. 

Q. What do you understand by poetry ? 

A. Lively and striking combinations of thought, ex¬ 
pressed in language arranged, for the sake of harmo¬ 
ny, according to certain rules. 

Q. In how many things, then, does poetry differ from prose ? 

A. In two : partly in the nature of the thoughts 
themselves, and partly in the selection and arrange¬ 
ment of the words. 

Q. What sort of poetry may then be considered the best ? 

A. That which, without violating nature, differs 
most widely from common prose. 

Q. Which kind of composition is supposed the most ancient ? 

A. Poetry ; for though, in refined society, few ex¬ 
press their thoughts in verse, compared to the num¬ 
bers that do so in prose, yet history informs us that 
the most ancient species of composition, among all 
rude nations, is poetry. 

Q. To what is this to be ascribed ? 

A. To the circumstance, that the imagination, on 
which poetry chiefly depends, comes earlier to matu¬ 
rity than reason and judgment, the main sources of 
prose. 

. For what purpose was the earliest poetry used ? 

A. Either for the promulgation of laws, the cele¬ 
bration of great martial achievements, or for the pur¬ 
pose of being set to music and sung. 

Q. Under what heads may prose composition be included ? 

A. Under those of Letters, Dialogue, History, Es¬ 
says, Philosophy, Orations, and Novels. 

Q. What are the divisions of poetry as regards its structure ? 

A. They are those of Rhyme and Blank Verse. 

K 2 



114 LETTERS AND DIALOGUE. [*>ART III. 

Q. What are the divisions as founded upon the subjects of 
which it treats ? 

A. They are Pastoral, Descriptive, Didactic, Lyric, 
Epic, and Dramatic Poetry. 


CHAPTER I. 

OF LETTER WRITING. 

Q. What is Letter-writing commonly called ? 

A. Epistolary correspondence. 

Q. Is this an important branch of composition ? 

A. Perhaps the most so of any; as all persons who 
can write at all, require occasionally to write letters 
of business, of friendship, or of amusement. 

Q. Is this species of composition confined to any particular sub¬ 
jects ? 

A. No; for a person may, in form of letters, discuss 
subjects of all sorts. 

Q. But upon what occasions are letters chiefly composed ? 

A. Chiefly upon the common affairs or business of 
life. 

Q. What should be the character of epistolary writing ? 

A. It should possess the greatest ease and simpli¬ 
city, and approach more than any other species of 
composition to the nature of conversation. 

In the “ Young Ladies’ Own Book” is found an excel¬ 
lent article on Letter-writing, from some female pen, to 
which we are indebted for the principal portion of what fol¬ 
lows. It deserves not only careful study, but diligent effort 
to reduce it to practice. 

A correspondence between two persons is simply a con¬ 
versation reduced to writing ; in which one party says all 
which she has to communicate, replies to preceding inqui¬ 
ries, and in her turn proposes questions, without interrup¬ 
tion by the other ; who takes precisely the same course in 
her answer. 1. We should write to an absent person as we 
would speak to the same party if present. 

2. Ambiguity , in epistolary correspondence, is a fault 
which ought most scrupulously to be avoided ; a word placed in 
an improper part of a sentence—a phrase that has a double 
signification—a phrase so blotted or ill-written as to be un¬ 
intelligible—a careless mode of sealing, by which a oortion 



PART III.] LETTERS AND DIALOGUE. 115 

of the manuscript is broken, or concealed, will often render 
it necessary for the party receiving the letter to write, and 
for the one who is guilty of the fault to reply, to another 
letter requiring the necessary explanation 

3. Conciseness is one of the charms of letter-writing. A let¬ 
ter should be expressed as briefly as perspicuity and ele¬ 
gance will permit. All parade of words should be omitted. 
Yet we must not fall into an abrupt and obscure style in or¬ 
der to secure brevity. 

4. Display is a great fault; ease is the grace of letter-writ¬ 
ing. Far-fetched words and studied phrases are not allow¬ 
able, or ornamental. A passage, at once brilliant and brief, 
enriches a letter ; but it must be artless, and appear to flow 
without effort from the writer’s pen—to arise naturally from 
the subject, or the preceding passages. 

5. If you are at a loss for matter in writing to a friend, ima¬ 
gine that that friend was at the moment entering your pres¬ 
ence. What would you tell him 1 What would you inquire 
about 1 What former inquiry of his would you answer 1 
Whatever we should say to a person present, we may write to a 
person absent , with this restriction, that we should be as se¬ 
lect in our written communication, as we would be in con¬ 
versation, if that friend could remain with us but a few min¬ 
utes. In that case we should speak only of those things 
which were of the greatest importance, and express them 
at once as clearly and concisely as possible ; and pleasantly, 
didactically, modestly, feelingly, or otherwise, according to 
their nature and the party whom we address. 

6 . Letters of compliment, inquiry, congratulation, or condo¬ 
lence, to those with whom we have little intimacy, should 
generally be restricted to the circumstance that gives occa¬ 
sion to the letter. They should be written with brevity, 
simplicity, and ease—sincerity and due moderation. 

7. If we confer a favor, and announce the fact to the par¬ 
ty whom we have obliged, it is necessary to avoid any ex¬ 
pressions that may tend to wound the feelings. It is pos¬ 
sible to grant a favor in such a manner as to offend, rather 
than delight; to create disgust, rather than gratitude. 

8. A letter of recommendation is a letter of business, and 
should be composed with care : it is a guarantee to the ex¬ 
tent of language, for the party recommended ; truth, there¬ 
fore, should never be sacrificed to condescension, false kind • 
ness, or politeness. 

9. In a letter of business, to say all that is necessary and 


116 ’letters and dialogue. [part hi. 

nothing more, in a clear and distinct manner, is a great 
merit; so that the party addressed may understand fully 
our desires and opinions on the subject of correspondence. 

10 . In your letters be sparing of advice. In many instan¬ 
ces, to volunteer it, is to be offensive to those whom you 
wish to benefit. It is a maxim with the discreet, never to 
give advice until they have been thrice asked for it. A 
friend should, perhaps, give advice to a friend, if he should 
see occasion so to do; but, in general, we can not be too 
sparing of our counsel. 

11 . Letters of excuse. In writing these, you must not for¬ 
get that almost as much depends on the time as the manner 
of making an excuse : it may be too late to be effective ; or 
so mistimed as to aggravate the previous offense. The 
excuse which wmuld be freely accepted to-day, might be in¬ 
dignantly rejected a month hence. 

12. Familiar letters , or letters of intelligence, should not be 
written carelessly; but even in them we should recollect 
what we owe to our language, to our correspondent, and to 
ourselves. We ought not to write any thing of which we 
may hereafter feel ashamed. Perkiess and flippancy should 
be avoided. 

In a letter of intelligence , state nothing but what is true ; 
avoid mete scandal; and reject whatever is merely dubious 
—or, at least, state it to be so. If you have, by mistake, 
communicated any false intelligence, be the first to correct 
it; it is graceful to retrace one’s steps when led astray. 
Select such facts as you know will be most interesting to 
your correspondent, and relate them, if of a pleasant nature, 
gayly, but without malice ; if serious, adopt a style suitable 
to the circumstances. 

13. Notes. Avoid using the first person at the conclusion of 
a note which has been commenced in the third. Hence it is an 
error to write thus: “ Miss Walters presents her compli¬ 
ments to Mr. Travers, and begs to be informed at what hour 
Mr. Travers intends to start for Bath to-morrow, as I partic¬ 
ularly wish to see him before his departure ; and remain, 
sir, yours sincerely,” &c. It should have been, “ as she 
particularly wishes,” &c. The last clause should be omit¬ 
ted. 

Notes written in the third person are frequently rendered am¬ 
biguous, and sometimes quite unintelligible, by a confusion 
of the personal pronouns; which, unless the sentences be 
carefully constructed, seem to apply equally well to the wri- 


LETTER-WRITING. 


117 


PART III.] 

ter as to the receiver. For example : “ Mr. A. presents his 
compliments to his friend, Mr. B., and has the satisfaction 
of informing him, that he has just been appointed, by govern¬ 
ment, to the lucrative office of [naming the office] in his na¬ 
tive town.” How could the receiver of this note learn from 
it whether he or Mr. A. had been favored with the above 
appointment 1 

14. Every letter that is not insulting, merits a leply, if it It 
required or necessary. If the letter contain a request, ac¬ 
cede to it gracefully and without ostentation, or refuse with¬ 
out harshness. An answer to a letter of condolence or 
congratulation should be grateful. The subjects should suc¬ 
ceed each other in proper order; and the questions put be 
consecutively answered. In all replies, it is usual to ac¬ 
knowledge the receipt, and to mention the date, of the last 
letter received: this should be an invariable rule ; by neg¬ 
lecting it, your correspondent may be left in doubt, or deem 
you guilty of offensive inattention. 

15. In answers to letters of business, to avoid misunder¬ 
standing, the substance of the communication to which the 
writer is about to reply is generally stated. This should 
be done, also, in other kinds of letters. The manner of do¬ 
ing this is usually as follows : “In reply to your letter, da¬ 
ted, &c., in which you state that, &c. [briefly setting forth 
the principal points which you are about to answer], I beg 
to state,” &c. 


SECTION II. 

on letter-writing ( continued). 

I. It is a bad practice to suffer letters to remain long unan¬ 
swered. It shows disrespect to a correspondent. There is 
in some a strange aversion to regularity ; a desire to delay 
what ought to be done immediately, in order to do something 
else, which might as well be done afterward. Valuable 
correspondence is thus often sacrificed. 

II. In letter-writing, as in other compositions, the rules of 
grammar should be strictly observed. So, also, of spelling. 
To spell correctly is no honor, but to spell incorrectly is a 
great disgrace. 

A parenthesis is objectionable, if it break the sense and dis¬ 
tort the sentence. It is rare that the subject of a parenthe¬ 
sis may not be better contained in a previous or following 
paragraph, or an elongation of the sentence, than thrown 
abruptly into the body of it. 


118 


LETTER-WRITING. 


[part III. 

The usual contractions in the English language are per¬ 
mitted in letters between friends, relatives, and equals—also 
in letters of business. Such only should be used, however, 
as polite custom has established. 

III. The Date — Address — Title—Signature — Postscript — 
Superscription — Folding — Postage. 

It is very improper to omit dating a letter. 

The address, as well as the signature of the writer, and the 
address and name of the correspondent, should be written in 
a very legible hand. Instances have occurred of lettei s re¬ 
maining unanswered, or of never reaching their place of 
destination, from a neglect in these particulars. 

Postscripts are, for the most part, needless, and in bad 
taste. They may be avoided by pausing a few moments 
before closing a letter, to reflect whether you have any 
thing more to say. Above all things, you must not defer 
your civilities, or kind inquiries for any friend or acquaint¬ 
ance, to this part of a letter. To do so is a proof of 
thoughtlessness or disrespect. 

To all fantastic signatures there is a strong objection ; so, 
also, to all fantastic modes of folding letters or notes. It is 
no proof of talent or education, to fold them in such a man¬ 
ner as to require much time and labor in opening them. 
The common modes are the best. In these, pupils should 
be instructed and practiced by their teachers, provided the 
latter understand them; which, unhappily, is not always 
the case. 

In sealing a letter , be careful not to cover any important 
word with the wafer. It is best, in writing, to mark off a 
space beforehand for the wafer. 

In writing to any person upon a matter of business which 
concerns yourself more than your correspondent—also in 
opening a correspondence—forget not to pay the postage . 

In Mr. Pierce’s English Grammar may be found ample 
directions and illustrations in regard to the proper arrange¬ 
ment of the date, address, folding, &c. 

The terms of respect, and clauses connected with them at the 
close of the letter , should receive special attention. It may be 
useful and gratifying to some to subjoin a few forms of ex¬ 
pressions that have been adopted by writers of literary repu¬ 
tation. 

Ever your affectionate son, 


I have the honor to be, Rev. sir, &c., 


R. C. 
B. F. 



LETTER-WRITING. 


119 


PART III."] 

The tenderest regard evermore awaits you, from your most 
affectionate. A. A. 


Adieu, dear E.; continue to write to me and believe none of 
your goodness is lost upon your, &c., M. W. M. 


therefore, good-night! 

Yours ever, H. W. 


May God bless and direct you, my dear friend. 

Yours affectionately, H. M. 

% ' ' 

Pray, my friend, let it not be long before you write to your 
ever affectionate, A. S. 

Believe me, my dear nephew, with true affection, 

Ever yours, C. 


Go on, my dear brother, in the admirable dispositions you have 
toward all that is right and good. I have neither paper nor 
words to tell you how tenderly I am yours, C. 


Believe me to be, with the utmost sincerity, as I really am, 
madam, your faithful, humble servant, J. S. 


If there be any thing with regard to the choice or matter of 
r our studies in which I can assist you, let me know, as you can 
tave no doubt of my being, in all things, 

Most affectionately yours, G. H 


I shall only add, that I am, with sincere respect, madam, 
Your faithful friend and obedient servant, 

C. M. 


With our wishes of all happiness to Mr. M. and yourself, I 
beg leave to subscribe myself, madam, 

Your affectionate friend, C. M. 

My love to brother and sister M. and their children, and to all 
my relatives in general. 

I am your dutiful son, B. F. 


Once more I beg to hear speedily from you. Jane and Dick 
are truly yours, so is my dear uncle, your affectionate kinsman 
and humble servant, E. B. 


Adieu, my dear G., and believe me, to you and to all with you 
at B. snd D., a most sincere and affectionate friend and kinsman, 

E. B. 















120 SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING.' [PART III, 

I netsd not desire you to bid any one remeijiber me; but tell 
them I remember them. Say how Eliza does. Tell Amelia and 
Sarah I do not forget them. God bless you all. 

J. P. C. 


The best wishes that can be formed for your health, honor, and 
happiness, ever attend you, from yours, &c., B. F. 

In the superscription of a letter, be careful not to 
give the double title of Mr. before the name, and Esq. 
after it. One of them is sufficient. It is proper also 
to give the professional title of a minister of the Gos¬ 
pel, a doctor, or lawyer, which are, respectively, Rev., 
M.D., and Esq. The latter title is often given to other 
gentlemen. These directions might be multiplied, but 
.we now furnish a few specimens of letter-writing, 
worthy of belhg imitated. 

SECTION III. 

SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. 

Dr. Beattie to the Duchess of Gordon, informing her of the death of 

his son. 

Aberdeen, Dec. 1 , 1790 . 

Knowing with what kindness and condescension your grace is 
interested in every thing that concerns me and my family, I take 
# the liberty to inform you that my son James is dead; that the last 
duties to him are now paid ; and that I am endeavoring to return, 
with the little ability that is left me, and with entire submission 
to the will of Providence, to the ordinary business of life. I have 
lost one who was always a pleasing companion ; but who, for the 
last five or six years, was one of the most entertaining and in¬ 
structive companions that ever man was blessed with: for his 
mind comprehended almost every science; he was a most atten¬ 
tive observer of life and manners; a master of classical learning; 
and he possessed an exuberance of wit and humor, a force of un¬ 
derstanding, and a correctness and delicacy of taste, beyond any 
other person of his age whom I have ever known. 

* * * * * 

* He lived twenty-two years and thirteen days. 

Many weeks before death came, he saw it approaching; and he 
met it with such composure and pious resignation as may, no 
loubt, be equalled, but can not be surpassed. 

He has left many things in writing, serious and humorous 
scientific and miscellaneous, prose and verse, Latin and English; 
but it will be a long time before I shall be able to harden my 
heart so far as to revise them. 

I have the satisfaction to know that every thing has been done 



TART III.] SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. 121 

for him that could be done. * * * * But my chief comfort 
arises from reflecting on the particulars of his life, which was one 
uninterrupted exercise of piety, benevolence, filial atfection, and, 
indeed, of every virtue which it was in his power to practice. I 
shall not, with respect to him, adopt a mode of speech which has 
become too common, and call him my poor son ; for I must believe 
that he is infimcely happy, and that he will be so forever. 

May God grant every blessing to your grace, your family, and 
all your friends. 

The Duke of Gordon has done, me the honor, according to his 
fronted and very great humanity, to write me a most friendly and 
sympathetic letter on this occasion. 

I have the honor to be, &c., 

James Beattie. 

The Duchess of Gordon. 

The Hon. Horace Walpole to R. West , Esq. 

Naples, June llth, 1740 , N. S. 

Dear West : 

One hates writing descriptions that are to be found in every 
»>ook of travels, but we have seen something to-day that I am 
sure you never read of, and, perhaps, never heard of. Have you 
ever heard of the subterraneous town ? a whole Roman town, 
with all its edifices,-remaining under ground. Don’t fancy the 
inhabitants buried it there to save it from the Goths: they were 
buried with it themselves. ***** This under-ground city is, 
perhaps, one of the noblest curiosities that ever has been discov¬ 
ered. It was found out by chance a century and a half ago. They 
began digging; they found statues : they dug farther; they found 
more. Since that they have made a very considerable progress, 
and find continually. ***** j forgot to tell you that in sev¬ 
eral places the beams of the houses remain, but burned to char¬ 
coal ; so little damaged that they retain visibly the grain of the 
wood; but, upon touching, crumble to ashes. What is remarka¬ 
ble, there are no other marks or appearances of fire but what are 
risible on these beams. * * * 

Adieu, my dear West, and believe me yours ever, 

H. Walpole. 

To Miss Baillie, by Sir Walter Scott. 

Abbotsford ,-. 

your kind letter, my dear friend, heaps coals of fire on my 
nead, for I should have written to you, in common gratitude, long 
eince; but I waited till I should read through the Miscellany with 
some attention, which, as I have not done, I can scarce say much 
to the purpose, so far as that is concerned. My own production 
sat in the porch like an evil thing, and scared me from proceed¬ 
ing farther than to hurry through your compositions, with which 
I was delighted, and two or three others. In my own case, I 
have almost a nervous reluctance to look back on any recent po- 

L 


122 SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. [PART III. 


etical performance of my own. I may almost say with Mac¬ 
beth, 

I am afraid to think what I have done ; 

Look oh’t again, I fu-e not,” 

But the best of the matter is, that your purpose has been so satis 
factorily answered. ***** 

Mrs. Hemans is somewhat too poetical for my taste—too many 
flowers, I mean, and too little fruit; but that may be the cynical 
criticism of an elderly gentleman: it is certain that when I was 
young, I read verses of every kind with infinitely more indulgence, 
because with more pleasure than I now do—the more shame for 
me now to refuse the complaisance which I have so often to so¬ 
licit. I am hastening to think prose a better thing than verse, 
and if you have any hopes to convince me to the contrary, it must 
be by writing and publishing another volume of plays as fast as 
possible. * * * * 

We saw, you will readily suppose, a great deal of Miss Edge- 
worth, and two very nice girls, her younger sisters. It is scarcely 
possible to say more of this very remarkable person, than that 
she not only completely answered, but exceeded the expectations 
which I had formed. I am particularly pleased with the naivete 
and good-humored ardor of mind which she unites with such form¬ 
idable powers of acute observation. * * * * 

To Miss Edgeworth—Sir W. Scott. 

Miss Harriet had the goodness to give me an account of your 
safe arrival in the Green Isle, of which I was, sooth to say, ex¬ 
tremely glad; for I had my own private apprehensions that your 
very disagreeable disorder might return while you were among 
Strangers, and in our rugged climate. I now conclude you are 
settled quietly at home, and looking back in recoilectir-%s of 
mountains, and valleys, and pipes, and clans, and cousins, and 
masons, and carpenters, and puppy dogs, and all the confusion of 
Abbotsford, as one does on recollections of a dream. We shall 
not easily forget the vision of having seen you and our two young 
friends, and your kind indulgence for all our humors, sober and 
fantastic, rough or smooth. * * * 

The Lockharts are both well, and at present our lodgers, to¬ 
gether with John Hugh. They all join in every thing kind and 
affectionate to you and the young ladies, and the best compliments 
to your brother. 

Believe me ever, dear Miss Edgeworth, 

Yours with the greatest truth and respect, 

Walter Scott. 


To a Scotch Cousin—Miss Sinclair. 


My dear Cousin, 

Here are we, safely deposited among 


London ,- 

the rural solitudes and 


PART III.] SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. 123 

romantic beauties of Hyde Park! London, at this season, is a 
mere deserted village! nobody that is any body, in town; not a 
shutter open in Grosvenor Square. ***** 

Shall I attempt, in a single page, to describe this gigantic city ? 
Such an achievement would resemble that of Crockford’s cook, 
who distilled a whole ox into a basin of soup. Though Bona¬ 
parte struck out the word impossible from his vocabulary, it re¬ 
mains in mine, and falls, like an extinguisher, upon all my hopes 
of succeeding; but take Lord Byron’s sketch, in full of all de¬ 
mands on ordinary pens: 

“ A wilderness of steeples peeping. 

On tiptoe, through thin sea-coal canopy, 

A huge, dun cupola, like a fool’s-cap crown, 

On a fool’s head—and there is London town.’ 

Some skillful physician once remarked, that England would cer¬ 
tainly go off in an apoplexy at last, because the circulation to¬ 
ward her extremities grows daily more languid, while every 
thing tends to the head; and it gave me some idea on the enor¬ 
mous scale which London is on now, compared with former times, 
to hear, that forty years ago, the mail left this for Scotland with 
only one letter, and now the average number that departs from 
the metropolis every morning is 80,000. How insignificant my 
own epistle will appear among so many! and we ourselves, after 
being accustomed to occasion some sensation at inns and villages 
in the wilds of Wales, feel now reduced again to obscurity, like 
Cinderella, when her carriage was turned into a pumpkin, her 
horses into mice, and herself into a mere nobody. 

It is highly diverting to watch the incessant stream of anxious, 
busy faces, unceasingly passing our window. Every one is, of 
course, pursuing some favorite object, compared with which the 
whole world besides is insignificant, and all will at last come un¬ 
der the pen of their respective biographers, either in quarto or 
duodecimo, in magazines, journals, or penny tracts, in the New¬ 
gate Calendar, or the annual obituary. ***** 

You were diverted once to hear of the old lady who had a nerv¬ 
ous complaint which could only be relieved by talking; but much 
as her friends had their complaisance put to the test, by listening 
without intermission, you must prepare to find me laboring under 
similar symptoms when we meet. Make up your mind to be con¬ 
siderably bored, and to have occasion for a large share of inex¬ 
haustible patience. ***** 

Our correspondence is now about to terminate in the way that 
all correspondences ought, by a happy meeting, which will take 
place delightfully soon, for as A. says, with railways and steam¬ 
boats, no one place is more than a hop, step, and a jump, from 
another. In the mean time, I shall say no more, but follow the 
•rery judicious advice of our favorite Cowper, 

“ Tell not as news what every body knows, 

And, new or old, still hasten to a close.” 


124 SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. [PART III. 


To Mrs. II. More—Countess Cremorne. 

I almost scruple intruding upon you, my dear Mrs. More, know¬ 
ing as I do, with sorrow, that you are so very far from well; and 
aiso knowing how many letters are pouring in upon you from all 
your friends and correspondents ; but I can not help wishing to 
tell you how gratefully 1 feel your kindness in sending me your 
most valuable book: 1 wish I could give you the satisfaction of 
knowing with what sort of pleasure I have been reading it. I 
wish you could have seen me reading it, as I do the letters of a 
few beloved friends—slowly, for fear of coming to the end; and 
reading those parts over and over again which most delight, and 
I hope, mend my heart. * * * * * 

Pray believe me, my dear Mrs. More, 

To be your affectionate and gratefu. 

F. Cremorne. 


Dr. Franklin to John Alleyne, Esq. 


Dear Jack, 

* * * 


Craven-street , August 9, 1768 
* * * 


Pray make my compliments and best wishes acceptable to your 
bride. I am old and heavy, or I should, ere this, have presented 
them in person. I shall make but small use of the old man’s priv¬ 
ilege, that of giving advice to younger friends. Treat your wife 
always with respect; it will procure respect to you, not only from 
her, but from all that observe it. Never use a slighting expres¬ 
sion to her, even in jest; for slights in jest, after frequent bandy- 
mgs, are apt to end in angry earnest. Be studious in your pro¬ 
fession, and you will be learned. Be industrious and frugal, and 
you will be rich. Be sober and temperate, and you will be healthy. 
Be in general virtuous, and you will be happy ; at least you will, 
by such conduct, stand the best chance for such consequences. 
I pray God to bless you both, being ever your affectionate friend, 

B. Franklin. 


Dr. Franklin to Mrs. Hewson. 

Passy, January 27, 1783. 

^ «(c 

At length we are in peace, God be praised! and long, very long, 
may it continue ! All wars are follies, very expensive and very 
mischievous ones. When will mankind be convinced of this, and 
agree to settle their differences by arbitration ? Were they to do 
it even by the cast of a die, it would be better than by lighting and 
destroying each other. 

Spring is coming on, whan traveling will be delightful. Can 
you not, when your children are all at school, make a little party, 
and take a trip hither? I have now a large house, delightfully 
situated, in which I could accommodate you and two or three 
friends, and I am but half an hour’s drive from Paris. 


PART III.] SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. 125 

Let me conclude by saying to you what I have had too frequent 
occasion to say to my other remaining old friends, the fewer we be¬ 
come, the more let us love one another. Adieu, &c. B. Fr. 

William Cowper to Lady Hasheth. 

Huntingdon, October 10, 1765. 

My dear Cousin, 

I should grumble at your long silence, if I did not know that 
one may love one’s friends very well, though one is not always in 
a humor to write to them. Besides, I have the satisfaction of 
being perfectly sure that you have at least twenty limes recollect¬ 
ed the debt you owe me, and as often resolved to pay it; and, per¬ 
haps, while you remain indebted to me, you think of me twice as 
often as you would do if the account was clear. These are the 
reflections with which I comfort myself under the affliction of not 
hearing from you; my temper does not incline me to jealousy, 
and, if it did, I should set all right by having recourse to what 1 
have already received from you. 

I thank God for your friendship, and for all the pleasing circum¬ 
stances here ; for my health of body and perfect serenity of mind. 
To recollect the past and compare it with the present is all I have 
need of to fill me with gratitude; and to be grateful is to be hap¬ 
py. Not that I think myself sufficiently thankful, or that I ever 
shall be so in this life. The warmest heart, perhaps, only feels 
by fits, and is often as insensible as the coldest. This, at least, 
is frequently the case with mine, and oftener than it should be. 
But the mercy that can forgive iniquity will never be severe to 
mark our frailties. To that mercy, my dear cousin, I commend 
you, with earnest wishes for your welfare, and remain your ever 
affectionate » W. Cowper. 

Dr. Johnson to Mr. Elphinston. 

September 25, 1750. 

Dear Sir, 

You have, as I find, by every kind of evidences, lost an excel¬ 
lent mother, and I hope you will not think me incapable of par¬ 
taking of your grief. I have a mother now eighty-two years of 
age, whom, therefore, I must soon lose, unless it please God that 
she rather should mourn for me. 

****■*• + 

The business of life summons us away from useless grief, and 
calls us to the exercise of those virtues of which we are lament¬ 
ing our deprivation. The greatest benefit which one friend can 
confer upon another is to guide, and incite, and elevate his vir¬ 
tues. This your mother will still perform, if you diligently pre¬ 
serve the memory of her life and of her death: a life, so far as I 
can learn, useful, wise, and innocent; and a death resigned, 
peaceful, and holy. I can not forbear to mention that neither rea¬ 
son nor revelation denies you to hope that you may increase her 
happiness by obeying her precepts; and that she may, in her pres- 


126 SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. [PART III. 


ent state, look with pleasure upon every act of virtue to which 
her instructions or example have contributed. 

* * *■ * * * 

There is one expedient by which you may, in some degree, 
continue her presence. If you write down minutely what you re¬ 
member of her from your earliest years, you will read it with great 
pleasure, and receive from it many hints of soothing recollection, 
when time shall remove her yet farther from you, and your grief 
shall be matured to veneration. To this, however painful for the 
present, I can not but advise you, as to a source of comfort and 
satisfaction in the time to come ; for all comfort and all satisfac 
tion is sincerely wished you by, dear sir, your, &c, 

S. Johnson. 

William Cowper, Esq., to Lady Hesketh. 

Your letters are so much my comfort, that I often tremble lest 
by any accident I should be disappointed ; and the more, because 
you have been, more than once, so engaged in company on the 
writing-day, that I have had a narrow escape. Let me give you 
a piece of good counsel, my cousin : follow my laudable example; 
write when you can; take Time’s forelock in one hand and a pen 
in the other, and so make sure of your opportunity. It is well for 
me that you write faster than any body, and more in an hour than 
other people in two, else I know not what would become bf me. 
When I read your letters I hear you talk, and I love talking let¬ 
ters dearly, especially from you. Well! the middle of June will 
not be always a thousand years off; and when it comes I shall 
hear you, and see you too, and shall not care a farthing then if 
you do not touch a pen in a month. * * * 

Henry Kirke White to his Brother Seville. 

Nottingham, -, 1800. 

Dear Neville, 

I can not divine what, in an epistolary correspondence, can have 
such charms (with people who only write commonplace occur¬ 
rences) as to detach a man from his-usual affairs, and make him 
waste time and paper on what can / not be of the least benefit to 
his correspondent. Among relations, certainly, there is always 
an incitement: we always feel an anxiety for their welfare. But 
I have no friend so dear to me as to cause me to take the trouble 
of reading his letters, if they only contained an account of his 
health, and the mere nothings of the day : indeed, such a one 
would be unworthy of friendship. What, then, is requisite to 
make one’s correspondence valuable ? I answer, sound sense. 
Nothing more is requisite : as to the style, one may readily ex¬ 
cuse its faults, if repaid by the sentiments. You have better nat¬ 
ural abilities than many youth, but it is with regret I see that you 
will not give yourself the trouble of writing a good letter. There 
is hardly any species of composition (in my opinion) easier than 
the epistolary; but, my friend, you never found any art, however 



PART III.] SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. 127 

trivial, that did not require some application at first. ****** 
You may, perhaps, think this art beneath your notice, or unwor¬ 
thy of your pains ; if so, you are assuredly mistaken ; for there is 
hardly any thing which would contribute more to the advance¬ 
ment of a young man, or which is more engaging. 

You read, I believe, a good deal; nothing could be more ac 
eptable to me, or more improving to you, than making a part of 
ycrur letters to consist of your sentiments and opinion of the books you 
peruse : you have no idea how beneficial this would be to your¬ 
self ; and that you are able to do it, I am certain. One of the 
greatest impediments to good writing, is the thinking too much be¬ 
fore you note down. This, I think, you are not entirely free from. 
I hope that, by always writing the first idea that presents itself, 
you will soon conquer it; my letters are always the rough first 
draft—of course there are many alterations: these you will ex¬ 
cuse. 

****** * * * * * 

You had better write again to Mr. B-. Between friends, the 

common forms of the world, in writing letter for letter, need not 
be observed ; but never write three without receiving one in re¬ 
turn, because, in that case, they must be thought unworthy of 
answer. 

We have been so busy, lately, that I could not answer yours 
sooner. Once a month, suppose we write to each other. If you 
ever find that my correspondence is not worth the trouble of car¬ 
rying on, inform me of it, and it shall cease. 

* * * * 

IIenry Kirke White. 

P.S. If any expression in this be too harsh, excuse it—I am not 
in an ill-humor, recollect. 

Dr. Franklin to David Hartley, Esq., M.P. 

Passy, July 5, 1785. 

I can not quit the coasts of Europe without taking leave of my 
ever dear friend, Mr. Hartley. We were long fellow-laborers in 
the best of all works, the work of peace. I leave you still in the 
field; but, having finished my day’s task, I am going home to go 
to bed. Wish me a good night’s rest, as I do you a pleasant even¬ 
ing. Adieu ; and believe me ever yours most affectionately, 

B. Franklin. 

For other specimens, consult the letters of Cowper 
and Rev. John Newton ; also the Classical Letter- 
writer, by the author of the Young Man’s Own Book. 

The following letter is one from the wife of the late 
poet Southey, of England, to Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, 
of Connecticut, in reference to the poet’s derange¬ 
ment. It is beautiful and touching. 


128 SPECIMENS OF LETTER-WRITING. [PART III. 


“ You desire to be remembered to Mm, who sang of ‘ Thalaba, 
the wild and wondrous tale.’ Alas! my friend, the dull, cold ear 
of death is not more insensible than his, my dearest husband’s, to 
all communication from the world without. Scarcely can I keep 
hold ot the last poor comfort of believing that he still knows me. 
This almost complete unconsciousness has not been of more 
than six months’ standing, though more than two years have 
elapsed since he has written even his name. After the death of 
his first wife, the ‘ Edith’ of his first love, who was for several 
years insane, his health was terribly shaken. Yet, for the great* 
er part of a year, that he spent with me in Hampshire, my former 
home, it seemed perfectly re-established, and he used to say, ‘ It 
had surely pleased God that the last years of his life should be 
happy.’ But the Almighty’s will was otherwise. The little 
cloud soon appeared, which was, in no long time, to overshadow 
all. In the blackness of its shadow we still live, and shall pass 
from under it only through the portals of the grave. 

“ The last three years have done on me the work of twenty. 
The one sole business of my life is, that which I verily believe 
keeps the life in me, the guardianship of my dear, helpless, un¬ 
conscious husband.” 


In a recently published and curious work, contain¬ 
ing Fac-similes of Washington’s Public Accounts, 
from 1775 to 1783, are the following, among other let¬ 
ters, from gentlemen in high stations under our gov¬ 
ernment, which may serve as favorable specimens of 
one kind of letter, for which, in this book-publishing 
age, a call is often made. 


• Senate Chamber, 23d June, 1841- 

Dear Sir, 

I take pleasure in complying with your request. The fac-sim- 
ile of General Wasliington’s accounts is a precious relic wMch 
every American citizen should possess. It demonstrates the 
method and the economy of the Father of his Country. 

I am, respectfully, your obedient servant, 

H. Clay. 


Mr. Franklin Knight . 


Office of Attorney General, June 25th, 1841. 

My dear Sir, 

I am pleased to learn that you are about to publish a fac-simile 
of General Washington’s accounts. He was a man so exemplary 
in all that is useful or great, that everything that marks his con¬ 
duct and the habits of his life must be interesting and instructive 
to his countrymen. 


Mr. Franklin Knight. 


Very respectfully, yours, &c., 

J. J. Crittenden, 


129 


RART III.] DIALOGUE AND ENIGMAS. 

Washington, June 28 th, 1841. 

I concui in tlie propriety of the publication which you propose. 
Order and method were striking features in the character of Gen¬ 
eral Washington, and they are well exhibited in the manner m 
which he kept the account of his personal expenses. 

Daniel Webster 

Franklin Knight. 


The following is a specimen of the letter-writing 
of Mrs. John Adams: it was written before her mar¬ 
riage. 


Weymouth , 16 th April, 1764. 

My Friend, 

I think I write to you every day. Shall not I make my letters 
very cheap ? Don’t you light your pipe with them? I care not 
if you do. ’Tis a pleasure to me to write. Yet I wonder I write 
to you with so little restraint, for, as a critic, I fear you more 
than any other person on earth, and ’tis the only character in 
which I ever did or ever will fear you. What say you ? Do you 
approve of that speech ? Don’t you think me a courageous being? 
Courage is a laudable, a glorious virtue, in your sex, why not in 
mine ? For my part, I think you ought to applaud me for mine. 

Here are love, respects, regards, good wishes—a whole wagon 
load of them, sent you from all the good folks in the neighbor¬ 
hood. To-morrow makes the fourteenth day. How many more 
are to come ? I dare not trust myself with the thought. Adieu. 
Let me hear from you by Mr. Cyers, and excuse this very bad 
writing ; if you had mended my pen it would have been better. 
Once more, adieu. Gold and silver have I none, but such as I 
have give I unto thee—which is, the affectionate regard of your 


CHAPTER II. 

DIALOGUE AND ENIGMAS. 

Q. What do you understand by Dialogue ? 

A. Conversation, real or supposed, kept up by dif¬ 
ferent speakers upon any subject of interest. 

Q. Is it confined to any particular subject ? 

A. No ; for, like letter-writing, it may be applied to 
subjects of all sorts. 

Q. Is it a difficult style of writing ? 

A. Very much so ; as the different parts of the dia¬ 
logue, in order to appear natural, require to corre¬ 
spond with the character and sentiments of the differ¬ 
ent speakers. 



130 


HISTORY. 


[part III. 


Q. Is this branch of literature much in request i 

A. Not nearly so much so as it once was; though 
there are still some very popular works of this class ; 
as, Conversations on Natural Philosophy, Morehead’s 
Dialogues on Natural and Revealed Religion, &c. 

Q. Who are supposed to have excelled most in this kind of 
writing ? 

A. The ancients; particularly Plato, Socrates, and 
Cicero. 

Q. What is supposed to have given rise to this particular de 
scription of composition ? 

A. The desire of imitating real life, or probably the 
conversations between ancient philosophers, who were 
mostly all public instructors, and their pupils. 

Q. What was the particular mode of conversation pursued by 
Socrates called ? 

A. The Socratic dialogue ; and consisted of a par¬ 
ticular mode of reasoning by means of question and 
answer. 

Q. What kind of composition is an Enigma ? 

A. It is an obscure question, as, for example, What 
word is that in the English language, and in common 
use, which will describe a person or thing as not to be 
found in any place, and yet, without any other alter¬ 
ation than a separation of the syllables, will correctly 
describe him as being present at the same moment 1 
The proper answer to this enigma would be—“ No¬ 
where,” “.Now here.” 

[Note .—In connection with this lesson, each scholar should be required 
to write a letter and a dialogue, or several of each, in the course of the 
study of this book.] 


CHAPTER III. 

OF HISTORY. 

Q. Do you think History an important branch of composition ■ 

A. Exceedingly so; as upon it depends all our 
knowledge of events beyond our own limited circle 
of observation. 

Q. What may all be included under the term history ? 

A. Annals, voyages, and travels, with the lives and 
memoirs of distinguished individuals. 



PART III.] HISTORY. 131 

Q. How may these, in treating of composition, be included un¬ 
der the term history ? 

A. Because they are all, though very different in 
other respects, an account of events and transactions 
that are entirely past, and therefore beyond the ob¬ 
servation of the person who reads them. 

Q. By what name jis the history of individuals generally 
known ? 

A. By the term biography; while that of kingdoms 
is called national history, or, by way of eminence, 
merely history. 

Q. What is the chief excellence of all these ? 

A. That of being a true report of what has actually 
taken place, without any appearance of either distor¬ 
tion or exaggeration. 

Q. In what style should history be written ? 

A. The parts that relate to common events and oc¬ 
currences should be simple and perspicuous; while 
those which relate to great and splendid actions may 
rise to the highest elevation of style. 

Q. What, upon the whole, may be considered the best history ? 

A. That which is at once the most faithful in its 
details, and the most interesting to the mind of the 
reader. 

Q. On what does fidelity in history depend ? 

A. Upon the writer’s diligence of inquiry and free¬ 
dom from prejudice. 

Q. And on what does the interest of history depend ? 

A. Partly on the subject, but more upon the man¬ 
ner in which it is treated. 

Q. How do you know this ? 

A. By the circumstance that, in the hands of some 
writers, every subject acquires interest; while, in 
those of others, every subject becomes dull and in¬ 
sipid. 

Q. Have we many good historians ? 

A. Many excellent writers of national history; as, 
Robertson, Gibbon, Hume, Bancroft, Prescott, &c., 
but few good writers of biography. 

Q. What are the most common faults in biography ? 

A. It generally displays either a minuteness which 
renders it tedious, or a partiality which excites dis¬ 
gust. 


132 


HISTORY. 


[part III. 


STYLE OF PRESCOTT, THE AMERICAN HISTORIAN. 

It may serve to convey just ideas of the best his¬ 
torical style, as well as of the excellence of this 
branch of American literature, to add, from the North 
American Review, a criticism upon W. H. Prescott, 
author of the History of Ferdinand and Isabella, and 
of the Conquest of Mexico. 

The style of the latter work, published in 1843, has essentially 
the same qualities of style as those which throw an unvarying 
charm over the pages of the former work. Mr. P. is not a man¬ 
nerist in style, and does not deal in elaborate, antithetical, nicely- 
balanced periods. His sentences are not cast in the same arti¬ 
ficial mold, nor is there a perpetual recurrence of the same forms 
of expression, as in the writings of Johnson or Gibbon; nor have 
they that satin-like smoothness and gloss for which Robertson is 
so remarkable. The dignified simplicity of his style is still farther 
removed from any thing like pertness, smartness, or affectation; 
from tawdry gum-flowers of rhetoric, and brass-gilt ornaments; 
from those fantastic tricks with language which bear the same 
relation to good writing that vaulting and tumbling do to walk¬ 
ing. It is perspicuous, flexible, and natural, sometimes betraying 
a want of high finish, but always manly, always correct, never 
feeble, and never inflated. He does not darkly insinuate state¬ 
ments, or leave his reader to infer facts. Indeed, it may be said 
of his style, that it has no marked character at all. Without 
ever Offending the mind or the ear, it has nothing that attracts 
observation to it, simply as a style. It is a transparent medium, 
through which we see the form and movement of the writer’s 
mind. In this respect we may compare it with the manners of a 
well-bred gentleman which have nothing so peculiar as to awa 
ken attention, and which, from their very ease and simplicity 
enable the essential qualities of the understanding and character 
to be more clearly discerned. 

Many of the sentences would have fallen with a richer mu¬ 
sic upon the ear, with some changes in their structure and 
rhythm. But, in looking on the work (on Mexico) as a whole, 
and from the proper point of view, every thing else is lost and 
forgotten in the general blaze of its merits. It is a noble work ; 
judiciously planned and admirably executed; rich with spoils of 
learning, easily and gracefully worn; imbued every where with a 
conscientious love of the truth, and controlled by that unerring 
good sense without which genius leads astray with its false 
lights, and learning encumbers with its heavy panoply. 

One of the principal duties of an historian is to give the very form 
and pressure of the time he is describing, to infuse its spirit into 
his pages ; to paint his scenes to the eye as well as to the mind; 
to produce an effect resembling, as nearly as possible, the illusion 
created by seeing the events lie narrates represented by well- 


133 


PART III.] ESSAYS AND PHILOSOPHY. 

trained actors, with appropriate costume, scenery, ami decora¬ 
tions. Here, too, Mr. P. has been signally successful. In his 
animated pages we see, as in the mirror of Cornelius Agrippa, the 
very shape and features of the sixteenth century. 

The style of George Bancroft , as an historian, is generally as 
much admired as that of Prescott. 


CHAPTER IV. 

OF ESSAYS AND PHILOSOPHY. 

Q. What sort of writing do you include under the term Es¬ 
says ? 

A. Essays are a species of writing confined to sub¬ 
jects of no particular kind, though generally under¬ 
stood as denoting short dissertations upon topics con¬ 
nected with life and manners. 

Q. What does the word essay properly mean ? 

A. A trial, or an attempt at something; and is a 
term often modestly applied to treatises of the great¬ 
est profundity. 

Q. What is meant by the British Essayists ? 

A. The Tatler, Spectator, Guardian, Rambler, Idler, 
Adventurer, Observer, Mirror, Lounger, &c., &c., all 
consisting of short dissertations upon various sub¬ 
jects, and exhibiting some of the choicest specimens 
of ’English composition. — (For other remarks, see 
part vi., sec. v.) 

While this statement is just, there is too much truth 
in the following criticism, from Chambers's Edinburgh 
Journal , respecting them : 

The Essajusts occupy a conspicuous place in the literature of 
the last century; but, somehow, I do not feel disposed to set much 
store by them. Their fault, or, let us be gentle, their misfortune 
is, that they do not relate so much to human nature as to some 
of its temporary modes. There is a sad deal too much about 
hoops and flounces, and rolled stockings, and enforcements of 
little moralities which no gentleman now thinks of disobeying ; 
and then the Flirtillas, and Eudosias, and Eugeniuses, and Hy- 
menaeuses, are stiff old frumps at the best. The whole reminds 
one of an exhibition of waxwdrk and old dresses ; yet there are 
fine things among them too: Sir Roger De Coverly, for instance, 
that admirable Old-English gentleman, so humane, so little think 
ing of the current of the world, so unreflecting on every thing be- 



134 


ORATIONS. 


[part III. 

jond the traditionary habits and duties of his station and locality. 
Here, also, we have the majestic moral melancholy of Johnson, 
and the fine pathos of Mackenzie. But, after all, it must 4>e a se¬ 
lection from that long line of essays which can give pleasure 
nowadays. 

The author farther would express, as his own opin¬ 
ion, that the modern British essayists, Professor Wil¬ 
son, Sir Walter Scott, and T. B. Macaulay, in brill¬ 
iancy and power of composition, far transcend the 
justly-lauded British essayists of earlier days. 

Q. Is there any particular style in which essays should be 
written ? 

A. Their style depends altogether upon the subject, 
and they may contain every species, according to the 
topic discussed, from the simplest to the most sublime. 

Q. What do you understand by Philosophical writing ? 

A. All kinds of composition connected with the 
principles of art and science, or with the investigation 
of moral and physical truth. 

Q. What should be the character of compositions of this kind ? 

A. Plainness, simplicity, and perspicuity of style* 
with clear, accurate, and methodical arrangement. 

[For an account of some British philosophers, see part vi., section vi.] 


CHAPTER V. 

OF ORATIONS. 

Q. What do you Understand by Orations ? 

A. All those displays of public speaking denomina¬ 
ted oratory or eloquence. 

Q. Into how many species may eloquence be divided ? 

A. Into three : the eloquence of popular assem¬ 
blies ; the eloquence of the bar; and the eloquence of 
the pulpit: the last, a species entirely unknown to the 
ancients. 

Q. What other names do these sometimes receive ? 

A. The first is called the eloquence of the senate; 
the second, the eloquence of the forum; and the last., 
which is appropriated to sacred subjects, is generally 
styled sermons. 

Q. What is the object of all public speaking ? 

A. To instruct and to persuade. 



ORATIONS. 


TART III.] 


135 


Q. What are some of the chief requisites in tne art of persuad 
ing? 

A. Extensive knowledge, sound sense, keen sensi¬ 
bility, and solid judgment, with great command of lan- 
uage, and a correct and graceful elocution. 

Q. What do you deem the next requisite? 

A. Perfect sincerity, earnestness of manner, and a 
thorough conviction in the mind of the speaker as to 
the truth of what he delivers. 

Q. What are the principal parts of a regular oration or discourse ? 

A. The Exordium, the Division, the Narration, the 
Confirmation, the Refutation, and the Peroration. 

Q. What do you understand by the Exordium ? 

A. The beginning, or introduction, in which the 
speaker states the object he has in view, and bespeaks 
the favor and attention of his audience. 

Q. What do you mean by the Division ? 

A. The part in which the speaker mentions the na¬ 
ture of.the question at issue, and lays down the plan 
whicli he means to pursue in discussing it. 

Q. What do you understand by the Narration ? 

A. The part in which the speaker takes a view of 
his whole subject, and states all the facts and circum 
stances connected with the case. 

Q. And what is the Confirmation ? 

A. The part in which the orator gives his own opin 
ions, and brings forward all the proofs and arguments 
on which they are founded. 

Q. And what is the Refutation ? 

A. The part in which the speaker answers the va¬ 
rious objections and arguments that may be brought 
against his opinions by an opponent. 

Q. What is the Peroration ? 

A, The part in which the speaker, after appealing 
to the passions and feelings of his audience, sums up 
all that has been said, and brings his oration to a con¬ 
clusion. 

Q. Are all these parts kept perfectly distinct? 

A. Not exactly so ; for the one is often less or more 
blended with the other. 

What, besides talents, is necessary to make a great orator ? 

A. Long and unremitted application to study, and a 
mind thoroughly imbued with the principles of virtue, 
and actuated bv the noble principle of independence. 


136 


ORATIONS. 


[part III. 

Q. Is eloquence as much cultivated now as it once was ? 

A. Far from it; the period when eloquence chiefly 
flourished was in the days when Greece and Rome 
were in all their splendor, and in the full enjoyment 
of liberty. 

Q. Who were the most distinguished of ancient orators ? 

A. Demosthenes among the Athenians, and Cicero 
among the Romans; the former considered as the 
greatest that the world has ever seen. 

Q. Have modem nations excelled much in oratory ? 

A. The French, the Dutch, and the Swiss, have all 
excelled in this art, but more particularly in pulpit 
eloquence; while the British and American have ex¬ 
celled in all the various kinds. 

Q. Can you mention some of the most eminent of the British 
orators ? 

A. Chatham, Pitt, Fox, Burke, Sheridan, Grattan, 
distinguished for the eloquence of the senate ; Curran, 
Erskine, &c., for the eloquence of the bar; and Bar- 
row, Atterbury, and Kirwan, for the eloquence of the 
pulpit. 

Q. Who are and have been the most illustrious among American 
orators ? 

A. Patrick Henry, Alexander Hamilton, Fisher 
Ames, Henry Clay, John C. Calhoun, Daniel Webster, 
E. Everett, John Randolph, W- Preston, G. M‘Duffie, 
and some others. 

[For a beautiful sketch of the eloquence of Cicero and Demosthenes, of 
Burke, Fox, and Pitt, of England, and of Hamilton, Ames, Calhoun, Ciay. 
and Webster, of America, see an article in the Am. Bib. Repository, Jan., 
1840, by N. Cleaveland, Esq., of Mass.] 

SECTION II. 

To aid the student in preparing an oration or speech, 
the author would first avail himself of the fine exam¬ 
ple of our distinguished countryman, Edward Evkr- 
ett, of whom, as an orator, the following sketch is 
given in the North American Review for 1837. It is 
here given only in part, but sufficient for our purpose : 

“The great charm of Mr. Everett’s orations consists, 
not so much in any single and strongly-developed intellect¬ 
ual trait, as in that symmetry and finish which, on eveiy 
page, give token of the richly-endowed and thorough schol- 


ORATIONS. 


137 


PART III.] 

ar. The natural movements of his mind are full of grace; 
and the most indifferent sentiment which falls from his pen 
has that simple elegance which it is as difficult to define as 
it is easy to perceive. His level passages are never tame, 
and his fine ones are never superfine. His style, with match¬ 
less flexibility, rises and falls with his subject, and is alternately 
easy, vivid, elevated, ornamental, or picturesque , adapting itself 
to the dominant mood of the mind, as an instrument responds 
to the touch of a master’s hand. His knowledge is so ex¬ 
tensive, and the field of his allusions so wide, that the most 
familiar views, in passing through his hands, gather such a 
halo of luminous illustrations, that their likeness seems 
transformed, and we entertain doubts of their identity. Es¬ 
pecially in reading these orations, do we perceive the power 
which comes from an accurate knowledge of history. No 
one wields an historical argument with more skill; no one 
is more fruitful in effective historical parallels and applica¬ 
tions. He has, in perfection, the historical eye, if we may so 
speak; the power of running over an epoch and seizing upon 
its characteristic expression, and of distinguishing the events 
by which that expression is most decidedly manifested. His 
picturesque narrative is also one of his most striking accom¬ 
plishments. This is seen most happily in his Plymouth and 
Bloody Brook Orations. 

“ His style appears to us a nearly perfect specimen of a 
rhetorical and ornamental style. Certainly it is so, if the 
just definition of a good style be, proper words in proper pla¬ 
ces. He is as careful to select the right word, as a workman 
in mosaic is to pick out the exact shade of color which he 
requires. His orations abound with these delicious caden¬ 
ces, which thrill through the veins like a strain of fine mu¬ 
sic, and cling spontaneously to the memory. Where can 
we find the English language molded into more graceful 
forms, than in such sentences as these 1 

“ ‘ The sound of my native language beyond the sea, is a music 
to my ear, beyond the richest strains of Tuscan softness or Cas 
tilian majesty.’ 

“ ‘ No vineyards, as now, clothed our inhospitable hill-sides ; 
no blooming orchards, as at the presont day, wore the livery of 
Eden, and loaded the breeze with sweet odors ; no rich pastures, 
nor waving crops, stretched beneath the eye, along the wayside, 
from village to village, as if Nature had been spreading her halis 
with a carpet, fit to be pressed by the footsteps of her descending 
God!’ 


138 


ORATIONS. 


[part III. 

“ The passage which describes the forlorn condition of the 
Pilgrims, on their voyage and at their landing, is singularly 
expressive and beautiful. 

“ The extracts we have made or referred to from Mr. Ever¬ 
ett’s volume of Orations, are specimens of that magnificent 
declamation which is one of his most obvious characteris¬ 
tics ; but some of his discourses are of a practical cast, and 
display a corresponding style. His singular power of illus¬ 
tration enables him to give dignity to the lowest, and inter¬ 
est to the dryest subject, while that unerring taste, which, 
in his highest flights, insures him temperance and smooth¬ 
ness, preserves him from the unpardonable sin of being 
heavy, commonplace, and prosaic. His brilliant intellectual 
accomplishments and his fine taste rest upon a granite founda¬ 
tion of vigorous good sense. Read his speech on the subject 
of the Western Rail-road for an illustration of these re¬ 
marks.” 


ORATORY OP DANIEL WEBSTER. 

The eloquence of Webster is of a less elaborate 
character than that of Everett, but it makes its way- 
more easily to the understanding and the heart. At 
the completion of the Bunker Hill Monument, he de¬ 
livered, June 17, 1843, an admirable address, in the 
presence of many thousands, displaying great variety 
of style in its several parts. The following extracts 
are from that audress : 

“ Yes! Bunker Hill Monument is completed. Here it stands, 
fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is erected ; ma¬ 
jestic in its object and purpose. Behold it there ! rising over the 
land and the sea, visible at this moment to three hundred thou - 
sand of the citizens of Massachusetts. It stands a memorial of 
the past, a monitor to the present and to all succeeding genera¬ 
tions of men. 

“ I have spoken of its purpose; for if it had been without 
other purpose than the erection of a mere work of art, the granite 
of which it is composed would have continued to sleep in its 
native bed ! That purpose gives it its dignity and causes us 
to look up to it with emotions of awe, and invests it with attri¬ 
butes of a great intellectual personage. It is itself the great ora¬ 
tor of this occasion. It is not from my lips, or from any human 
lips that the stream of eloquence is to flow, which shall be com¬ 
petent to express the emotions of this vast multitude. The po¬ 
tent speaker stands motionless before you. It is a plain shaft. 
It bears no inscription, fronting the rising sun, from which a fu¬ 
ture antiquarian shall be employed to wipe away the dust—nor 


ORATIONS. 


139 


PART III.J 

does the rising sun awaken strains of music from its summit. 
But there it stands, and at the rising of the sun, and at its setting, 
in the blaze of noonday, and under the milder effulgence of lunar 
light, it looks, speaks, acts to the full comprehension of every 
American mind, and awaking the highest enthusiasm in everv 
true American heart. Its silent but awful utterance—the deep 
pathos with which, as we look upon it, it brings before us the 
17th of June, 1775—the consequences which resulted from the 
events of that day, to us, to this continent, and to the world— 
consequences whieh we know must continue, and rain their in¬ 
fluence on the destinies of mankind to the end of time, surpass 
all the most arduous study of the closet, and even the inspiration 
of genius. To-day—to-day it speaks to us. Its future auditory 
will be found in the succeeding generations of men, as they rise 
before it, and gather round it. It speaks, and will ever speak, of 
courage and patriotism, of religion, liberty, and good government, 
and of the renown of those who sacrificed themselves for the 
good of their country. In the older world many gigantic fabrics 
are still in existence, reared by human hands, the mystery of 
whose erection is lost in the darkness of ages. They are monu 
ments of nothing but the power of man. The mighty pyramid 
itself, which has stood for thousands of years, amid the sands of 
Africa, brings down and reports to us nothing but the power of 
kings, and the servitude of their people. As to any high senti¬ 
ment—any noble admonition, or wise lesson of instruction, or 
any great end of existence, it is as silent as the million of human 
beings who lie in the dust at its base or slumber in the catacombs 
around it. There is no just object now known, to accomplish 
which the hands of mankind raised its immense proportions to 
heaven, and its contemplation excites in the human mind, in our 
day, no feeling but of power and of wonder. But if our present 
civil institutions, founded as they are on solid science, high at¬ 
tainments in art, deep knowledge of nature, enlightened moral 
sentiment, and the elevating truths of the Christian religion, are 
destined to perish, this monument, and the fame of those whose 
deeds it is to honor and commemorate, will still be dear to the 
heart of every true American. Its object will be known till that 
dreadful hour shall come, and that knowledge will not even then 
fade from the minds of our race. If civilization is destined to be 
again overcome by another deluge of barbarism, still the memory 
of Bunker Hill, and of the events with which it is connected, will 
be the part and parcel of the elements of light and civilization, 
which shall remain in the mind of the last man to whom the in¬ 
fluence of the Christian religion and of civilization shall extend.” 

Toward the close of the address, speaking of what 
America had done for the world, he remarks: 

“ But, my friends, America has done more—America has fur 
nished to Europe the character of Washington. And if our insti 
tutions had done nothing else, they would have deserved the re- 


140 


ORATIONS. 


[part III. 

spect of mankind. Washington, first in war, first in peace, and 
first in the hearts of his countrymen—Washington is all our own, 
and the veneration and love entertained for him by the people of 
the United States are proofs that they are worthy of such a 
countryman. I would cheerfully put the question to-day to the 
intelligent men of all Europe—I will say, to the intellect of the 
whole world—what character of any country stands out in the 
relief of history most pure, most respectable, most sublime ? I 
doubt not that by a suffrage approaching to unanimity, the answer 
would be, Washington. That monument itself is not an unfit em 
blem of his character, in its uprightness, its solidity, its durability. 
His public virtues and his private principles were as firm and 
fixed as the earth on which it rests. His personal motives were 
as pure as the serene heaven in which its summit is lost. 

“ Yet, indeed, although a fit, it is <not an adequate emblem. 
Towering far above the columns our hands have built—beheld 
not by the inhabitants of a single city or a single state alone, but 
by all the families of men, ascends in colossal grandeur the char¬ 
acter of Washington. In all its constituent parts, acts, effects, 
titles to universal love, and admiration, and renown, it is an 
American product. Born upon our soil—of parents born upon 
our soil—never having had for a single day a sight of the Old 
World—reared amid our gigantic scenery—instructed according 
to the modes of the time in plain, solid, wholesome elementary 
knowledge, which is furnished to all our children—brought up 
among and fostered by the genuine influences of American so 
ciety—partaking of our great destiny of labor—partaking in and 
leading our agony of glory, the war of our Independence—par¬ 
taking and leading m that victory of Freedom which ended in the 
establishment of our present Constitution—behold him, and be- 
nold him altogether an American. That crowded and glorious 
life in which we see a multitude of virtues, each contending to be 
foremost in the throng, and yet seem to be making room for a 
greater multitude to come—that life, in all its purity, in all its ele¬ 
vation, in all its grandeur, was the life of an American citizen. 
I claim him, Washington, wholly for America. And amid the 
peril and the darkened hours of the State—in the midst of the 
reproaches of enemies and the misgivings of friends, I turn to that 
transcendent name for courage anu for consolation. To him who 
denies that our fervid Transatlantic liberty can be,combined with 
law and order—to him who denies that America has contributed 
any thing to the world’s stock of great lessons and great exam¬ 
ples—to all these, I would reply by pointing to the character, and 
to the great example of Washington.” 

It will be interesting and profitable here to present 
to the student a criticism upon three of perhaps the 
most distinguished of American orators now living, 
Calhoun, Clay, and Webster. It is extracted from 
the American Biblical Repository for 1840: 


PART III.J ORATIONS 141 

• 

Mr. Calhoun is the acknowledged chief of metaphysical orators. 
His mind is uncommonly acute, with a rare faculty of seeing 
or making distinctions. His reasoning is equally subtle ana 
t plausible. He loves to revel and soar in the airy regions of ab¬ 
straction. He is the great Des Cartes of the Political Academy. 
His theory is always curious—often beautiful—sometimes sub¬ 
lime ; but it is a theory of “ vortices.’' 

Not so with Mr. Clay. He loves to move on the surface of our 
earth, and amid the throng of fellow-men ; or if at any time dis¬ 
posed to climb, ’tis only to some sunny hill-top, that he may get 
a wider view of the busy, happy scene below. He is the orator 
of popular principles and of common sense. His views are ex¬ 
pansive rather than deep—his grasp of subject not so strong as it 
is broad. He needs no interpreter to make more clear his mean¬ 
ing, nor any other index to the kindness of his character than his 
homely, but open and expressive face. As a speaker, his style is 
Ciceronean ; graceful and winning, rather than impetuous. Witty 
and powerful at repartee,he is more skillful and ready in the skir¬ 
mish of debate than either of his great competitors. 

One remains. In all the qualities of the orator and statesman, 
fitted to confer present power and lasting fame, Mr. Webster’s 
pre-eminence will be denied by few. 

*♦****•■* 

His style is remarkable for its simplicity. To utter thoughts 
of the highest order, in language perfectly simple; by lucid ar¬ 
rangement and apt words, to make hbstract reasoning, and the 
most recondite principles of commerce, politics, and law, plain to 
the humblest capacity, is a privilege and power in which Mr. 
Webster is equalled, probably, by no living man. This sim¬ 
plicity, which is thought so easy of attainment, is, neverthe¬ 
less, in. this as in most cases, undoubtedly the result of uncom¬ 
mon care. Like the great Athenian orator, Mr. W. is always full 
of his subject. Like him, when most simple in his diction, he 
is yet admirably select. Like him, too, he can adorn where orna¬ 
ment is appropriate, and kindle, when occasion calls, into the 
most touching pathos, or loftiest sublime. 

As a public man, Mr. W. is eminently American. His speeches 
breathe the purest spirit of a broad and generous patriotism. 
The institutions of learning and liberty which nurtured him to 
greatness, it has been his filial pride to cherish: his manly priv¬ 
ilege to defend, if not to save. 

For specimens of theSe and other American orators, we must 
refer to Lovell’s United States Speaker, ind other collections. 


142 


NOVELS. 


[part III, 


CHAPTER VI. 

OF NOVELS. 

Q. What do you understand by the term Novel? 

A. Novel, in its literal signification, means some¬ 
thing new ; but, as denoting a branch of literature, it 
is generally used as the name of all fictitious compo¬ 
sitions in prose. 

Q. What may this term, in its widest sense, be made to in¬ 
clude ? 

A. Allegories, fables, and stories of all kinds, wheth¬ 
er invented for the purpose of instruction or of amuse 
ment. 

Q. Where had this species of composition its origin ? 

A. It is commonly thought to have originated among 
the people of Asia, and from them to have found its 
way into Greece and Rome, and thence into all the 
other nations of Europe, and into America. 

Q. What are the best known of Eastern fictions ? 

A. The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments ; tnough 
all the writings of Eastern nations possess more or 
less of a fictitious character. 

Q. Who introduced or revived the writing of novels in more 
modern times ? 

A. A set of strolling bards or story-tellers in France, 
called Troubadours, who went about proclaiming the 
deeds of imaginary heroes, in order to prompt to acts 
of chivalry. 

Q. In what language did they compose ? 

A. In a sort of Roman-French, called Romanshe, 
from which is derived our word romance. 

Q. What is the difference between a novel and a romance ? 

A. A novel is a fictitious work, either founded upon 
the events of real life, or at least bearing some re¬ 
semblance to them : while a romance is a work of a 
similar kind, having something wild and unnatural in 
it; and, if not purely imaginary, resting upon some 
extravagant tradition, and extending far beyond the 
limits of probability. 

Q. When did novel-writing find its way into Great Britain ? 

A. It was introduced into England during the reign 
of Queen Elizabeth; and since that time it has gradu- 


NOVELS. 


PART III.] 


143 


ally extended, till now more novels issue from the 
press than works of almost any other description 

Q. Are novels an important branch of literature * 

A. On this point there is great diversity of opinion, 
some extolling them as the best teachers of morals, 
and others condemning them as the corrupters of 
principle, and the contaminators of the mind. 

Q. What is the character of a good novel ? 

A. A perfect freedom from every degree of immoral 
tendency, together with the power of deeply interest¬ 
ing the feelings of the reader. 

Q. What is the consequence of too great a love of novels ? 

A. It tends to distract the mind, and disqualify it 
for solid thinking, and the pursuit of useful knowledge. 

Q. Is there any peculiar style adapted to novels T 

A. They admit of every variety of style, according 
to the nature of the incidents and characters de¬ 
scribed ; but that must always be the best, which is 
most natural and animated. 

Q. What peculiar quaiity of mind does the writing of good 
novels require ? 

A. Great readiness of invention, with quickness in 
discerning, and power in describing, characters and 
events. 

Q. Can you mention some of the most distinguished writers of 
novels ? 

A. Le Sage and Voltaire among the French, Cer¬ 
vantes among the Spaniards, and Cooper among the 
Americans, with numerous novelists of great celebri¬ 
ty among the Italians and Germans. 

Q. Have not the English distinguished themselves in this walk 
of literature ? 

A. More so than almost any other nation; and their 
most eminent writers of this class are, De Foe, Swift, 
Goldsmith, Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, Miss Por¬ 
ter, Miss Edgeworth, Sir Walter Scott, and Mrs. 
Ellis. 


MORAL AND LITERARY INFLUENCE OF NOVELS. 

Novels, in this day, are multiplying indefinitely. 
They are made the vehicles of every diversity of sen¬ 
timent in philosophy, politics, and religion. Some 
of them display genius, some wit, and some ribaldry. 


144 BLANK VERSE AND RHYME. [PART III 

Some are remarkable for the high moral tone that 
pervades them; some are negative in their character, 
and others are positively infidel and licentious. Some 
exhibit in their heroes the finest traits of humanity ; 
others exalt the criminal to a hero, and endeavor to 
render vice attractive. It is probable that there are 
more pages of ephemeral novels published yearly, 
throughout the civilized world, than of all other liter¬ 
ary productions united. They are not only published, 
but circulated and read ; read, too, by that very class 
of persons who have no moral strength to resist their 
vicious influence. The German press, since 1814, has 
produced not less than five or six thousand new nov¬ 
els, for the most part bad in their influence, embra¬ 
cing several millions of volumes. French novels 
have been nearly as numerous, and more demoraliz¬ 
ing. 

English novels have, in proportion to the issues of 
the press, been as numerous as in France or Ger- 
many. 

In our own country, the facilities for cheap publi¬ 
cation are manufacturing a flood of this species of 
literature, which is working out our destiny as a na¬ 
tion. Their influence can not be overlooked by the 
statesman, moralist, or philosopher. The unwary may 
i imbibe the poison of vice or infidelity when looking only 
for amusement. 

[For an ample discussion of this subject, consult the Amer. Bib. Repos¬ 
itory, 1843; also an article in the Democratic Review, July, 1844; also 
North American Review, April, 1827, and for July, 1843 


CHAPTER VII. 

OF BLANK VERSE AND RHYME. 

Q. What do you understand by Blank Verse 1 
A. That poetry which depends upon measure alone, 
without any correspondence of sound in the termina¬ 
ting syllables of different lines. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. k These, as they change, Almighty Father, these 
Are but the varied God. The rolling year 



145 


PART III.J BLANK VERSE AND RHYME. 

Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing spring 
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 

Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm; 

Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; 

And every sense and every heart is joy. 

Q. What do you mean by Rhyme'? 

A. Poetry in which, besides the measured arrange¬ 
ment of the words, there is a recurrence of similar 
sounds at the end of certain lines. 

Q. Can you exemplify this ? 

A. “ Order is Heaven’s first law : and this con fesl, 

Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, 

More rich, more wise ; but who infers from hence, 

That such are happier, shocks all common sense.” 

Q. What do you call two successive lines rhyming together ? 

A. A couplet; while three, under similar circum¬ 
stances, are called a triplet; as, 

“ Honor and shame from no condition rise; 

Act well your part, there all the honor lies.” 

Four limpid fountains from the cliffs distill;) 

And every fountain pours a several rill, > 

In mazy windings wandering down the hill; j 
Where blooms with vivid green were crown’d. 

And glowing violets cast their odors round.” 

Q. What do you mean by imperfect rhymes ? 

A. Rhymes in which the sounds in certain sylla¬ 
bles make merely an approach to each other, but are 
not perfectly alike ; as, 

“ Shall only man be taken in the gross ? 

Grant but as many sorts of mind as moss.” 

Q. What do you mean by double . rhymes ? • 

A. Rhymes which occur both in the middle and at 
the end of the same verse, as well as in the final syl¬ 
lables of different verses ; as, 

“You, bustling and justling. 

Forget each grief and pain ; 

0 , listless yet restless, 

Find every prospect vain.” 

Q. What do you understand by the term stanza ? , 

A. A certain arrangement of verses in which the 
rhymes do not take place in successive lines, but in 
such as are placed at some distance from each other; 
as, 


N 


146 THE STRUCTURE OF VERSE. [PART III. 

“ Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb 
The steep where Fame’s proud temple shines afar! 

Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime 
Hath felt the influence of malignant star, 

And waged with Fortune an eternal war; 

Check’d by the scoff of Pride, by Envy’s frown, 

And Poverty’s unconquerable bar, 

In life’s low vale remote hath pined alone, 

Then dropp’d into the grave, unpitied and unitnown !’ 

Q. What is the shortest stanza in our language ? 

A. That which consists of four lines or verses, 
sometimes with only the second and fourth lines 
forming a rhyme, and sometimes with the first and 
third also; as, 

“ O thou Great Being ! what thou art 
Surpasses me to know; 

Yet sure I am, that known to thee 
Are all thy works below.” 

“ How smiling wakes the verdant year, 

Array’d in velvet green ; 

How glad, the circling fields ap pear. 

That bound the blooming scene /” 

Q. What may be conceived as the origin of rhyme ? 

A. The pleasure which the ear feels in the recur¬ 
rence of similar sounds; so that rhyme and allitera¬ 
tion, as well as poetry itself, have all a common origin. 

Q. Are rhyme and blank verse alike adapted to all sorts of sub¬ 
jects ? 

A. Rhyme is best fitted for light and familiar sub¬ 
jects ; blank verse for those which are of a graver and 
more dignified character. 

Q. Do blank verse and rhyme equally prevail in all languages ? 

A. ’No ; in Greek and Latin, rhyme is almost un¬ 
known ; in French and Italian, there is hardly such a 
thing as blank verse ; while in English, they are near¬ 
ly alike prevalent. [See Montgomery on Poetry, p 
109-113. 

- • 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OF THE STRUCTURE OF VERSE. 

Q. On what does the Structure of Verse chiefly depend? 

A. On a certain arrangement of words, or syllables, 
called poetic feet. 



PART III.] THE STRUCTURE OF VERSE. 147 

Q. How do a certain number and variety of syllables get the 
name of feet ? 

A. Because it is chiefly by their means that the 
voice steps, as it were, along the verse, dividing it 
into distinct portions, which constitute what is called 
measure. 

Q. Can you illustrate this by example ? 

A. “ But Hope | can here | her moon|light vig|ils keep, 

And sing | to charm | the spir|it of | the deep.” 

Q. On what do these poetic feet depend ? 

A. With us they depend principally upon accent; 
among the Greeks and Romans, they depended alto¬ 
gether upon quantity, one long syllable being equal to 
two short ones. 

Q. In what respect, therefore, may all syllables be viewed with 
regard to poetry ? 

A. Either as long and short, or as accented and un 
accented. 

Q. Do accent and quantity ever coincide 1 

A. They always do so when the accent falls upon a 
vowel, which causes the syllable to be long as well as 
accented; as grateful, polite. 

Q. How many kinds of poetic feet are there ? 

A. Two : those having but two syllables, and those 
having three. 

Q. What are the feet that have each only two syllables'? 

A. The Trochee, the Iambus, the Spondee, and the 
Pyrrhic. 

Q. What are those which have three each ? 

A. The Dactyl, the Amphibrach, the Anapaest, and 
the Tribrach. 

Q. Can you explain the feet consisting of two syllables each ? 

A. The trochee has the first syllable accented, and 
the second unaccented; the iambus the first unaccent¬ 
ed, and the second accented ; the spondee, both ac¬ 
cented; and the pyrrhic, both unaccented ; as, bold¬ 
ness ; delight; pale suns ; on It. 

Q. Can you explain the trisyllabic feet, or those which have 
three syllables each 1 

A. The dactyl has the first syllable accented, and 
the second and third unaccented; the amphibrach the 
first and third unaccented, and the second accented; 
the anapaest the first and second unaccented, and the 


148 


VARIETIES OF VERSE. [PART III. 

third accented ; and the tribrach the whole three un¬ 
accented ; as, regular; determine ; countervail: meas¬ 
urable. 

Q. Do these feet admit of any other division ? 

A. Yes; they are divided into those called princi¬ 
pal, and those called secondary feet. 

Q. What are the principal feet? 

A. The Iambus, the Trochee, the Dactyl, and tne 
Anapaest: while the Spondee, the Pyrrhic, the Am¬ 
phibrach, and the Tribrach, are the secondary. 

Q. Why are the former called principal feet ? 

A. Because that of them alone, or, at least chiefly, 
whole poems may be formed. 

Q. Why are the others called secondary feet ? 

A. Because they never either wholly or chiefly form 
whole poems, but are merely mixed with the other 
feet, for the sake of varying the measure or movement 
of the verse. 


CHAPTER IX. 

OF VARIETIES OF VERSE. 

Q. How are different kinds of verse denominated ? 

A. According to the particular kind of feet of which 
it is either wholly or principally formed; as, Iambic, 
Trochaic, Dactylic, and Anapaestic verse. 

Q. How many sorts of iambic verse are there ? 

A. Chiefly four, according as it consists of two, 
three, four, or five feet. 

Q. Can you illustrate these different kinds of Iambic ?erse by 
examples ? 

A. 1. “ With ravished ears 
The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod, 

2. And seems to shake the spheres.” 

3. “ And n5w when busy crowds retire 

2. To take their evening rest, 

3. The hermit trlmm’d his little fire, 

2. And cheer’d his pensive guest.” 



VARIETIES OF VERSE. 


149 


PART III.] 

“Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 
The rich man’s joys Increase, the poor’s decay, 

’TIs yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land.” 

Q. What is this last species called ? 

A. Heroic measure, and is the most common spe¬ 
cies of verse in the English language. 

Q. Does iambic verse never consist of more than five feet ? 

A. Occasionally it takes six, and is then called Alex¬ 
andrine measure, the chief use of which is to give va¬ 
riety to the other species of iambic verse. 

Q. When is the Alexandrine measure commonly introduced ? 
A. Chiefly at the close of a poem, a paragraph, or 
a stanza, of heroic measure; as, 

“ The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 

Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away! 

But fix’d his word, his saving power remains ; 

Thy realm forever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns !” 

Q. What is done with iambic verse consisting of seven feet T 
A. It is divided into two lines or verses, the one 
containing three, the other four feet; as, 

“ Alas ! by some degree of wo, 

We ev’ry bliss must gain ; 

The heart can ne’er a transport know, 

That never knew a pain.” 

Q. What is the next most common species of verse T 
A. The Anapaestic, which may consist of two, three, 
or four feet; as, 

“Tn my rage shall be seen 
The revenge of a queen.” 

44 Not a pine In my grove Is there seen, 

But with tendrils of woodbine Is bound • 

Not a beech Is more beautiful green, 

But a sweet-brier entwines it around.” 

“ May Tgovern my passions with absolute sway, 

And grow wiser or better as life wears away.” 

Q. Is anapaestic verse a common species qfpoetry? 

A. Pretty common for short poems, but seldom 
used in poems of any length. 

Q. Is there much fine trochaic and dactylic verse ? 

A. Very little; for, though often found mixed up 
with iambic or anapaestic verse, neither is much used 
by itself. 


N 2 


150 POETIC PAUSES. [part III. 

Q. Can you give any examples of this admixture of feet of 
which you speak ? 

A. “ Soon would the vine his wounds deplore. 

And yield its purple gifts no more.” 

“ She tells with what delight he stood 
To trace his features in the flood.” 

Q. Can you explain the mixture of feet to be found in these 
couplets 7 

A. The first foot of the first verse is a trochee; 
while the third in the last verse is a pyrrhic. 

Q. What do you call the reducing of verses into their different 
feet? 

A. Scansion, or scanning, an exercise which tends 
much to improve one’s skill and taste in poetry 


CHAPTER X. 

OF POETIC PAUSES. 

Q. What do you mean by pauses as applied to poetry? 

A. Those rests of the voice which are necessary 
for preserving the harmony. 

Q. Does poetry, in reading, admit of any pauses which prose 
would not ? 

A. Some say it does; but it may be safely asserted, 
that no pause should be made in poetry that in the 
slightest degree interferes with the sense, or would 
be altogether improper in prose. 

Q. What poetry is most harmonious 

A. That which is so constructed as to admit of 
pauses at something like stated and regular distances 
from each other, and in proper places of the verse. 

Q. Is it the poet, then, or the reader, that regelates the pauses? 

A. The poet principally; for, if he so constructs 
his verse as not to admit of pauses in their proper 
places without injuring the sense, no skill in reading 
will be able to render it harmonious. 

Q. How many sorts of poetic pauses are there ? 

A. Two : Final and Casural. 

Q. What do you mean by the Final pause ? 

A. That which takes place at the close of the verse, 
or when the sense is complete 



POETIC PAUSES. 


m 


PART III.] 

Q. What do you mean by the Caesural pause ? 

A. That which takes place in the middle of averse 
where the sense is incomplete, and which marks a 
mere suspension of the voice for the sake of harmony. 

Q. Can you illustrate both of these ? 

A. “ The time shall come, | when free, | as seas or wind, | 
Unbounded Thames | shall flow for all mankind.” | 

Q. When are heroic verses generally most harmonious ? 

A. When so constructed that the caesural pause 
takes place immediately after the fourth, fifth, or sixth 
syllable. 

Q. Can you give any examples of this ? 

A. “ And hence the charm | historic scenes impart; 

Hence Tiber awes, | and Avon melts the heart.” 

“ Mark yon old mansion | frowning through the trees, 
Whose hollow turret j vvoos the whistling breeze.” 

“ Remark each anxious toil, | each eager strife, 

And watch the busy scenes | of crowded life.” 

Q. When'is the harmony of verse impaired ? 

A. When the caesural pause happens nearer the be¬ 
ginning 1 than the fourth, or nearer the end than the 
sixth syllable. 

Q. Can you give an example ? 

A. “As o’er the dusky furniture | I bend, 

Each chair | awakes the feelings of a friend.’ 

Q. Does a verse never admit of more than one caesural pause ? 

A. It oft admits of two, or even three; as, 

‘ But hope [ can here | her moonlight vigils keep, 

And sing | to charm the spirit | of the deep.” 

“ Yes; | to thy tongue | shall seraph words I be given. 

And power | on earth | to plead the cause | of Heaven.” 

Q. Has great uniformity of pauses a pleasing effect ? 

A. No ; for though each of the verses, if the pauses 
are judiciously placed, may be sufficiently harmonious 
in itself, yet too much sameness soon tires, or even 
disgusts. 

Q. When, therefore, are they so placed as to produce the most 
lasting pleasure ? 

A. When they are most varied, especially within 
that range of position most favorable to the harmony 
of each verse individually. 

Q Have all the verses of any of the particular species of poe* 
try exactly the same number of syllables ? 


152 PASTORAL AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. [PART III. 

A. By no means ; a verse may frequently, from the 
admixture of different feet, have either a syllable 
more, or a syllable less, than the requisite number; as, 

" How fleet | is a glance | 6f the mind, 

Compared | with the speed | of its flight; 

Th$ temlpest itself | lags behind, 

And the swlft-|wlnged arlrows of light.” 


CHAPTER XI. 

OF PASTORAL AND DESCRIPTIVE POETRY. 

Q. What is the nature of Pastoral Poetry ? 

A. It is that poetry in which the scenes and objects 
of rural life are celebrated or described. 

Q. What is the strict meaning of the word pastoral ? 

A. As coming from the Latin word pastor , a shep¬ 
herd, in strictness of meaning, it implies only what*is 
connected with the care of sheep; but it is generally 
taken in a wider sense, to denote every thing connect¬ 
ed with country life and occupation. 

Q. Whence does the great charm of pastoral poetry arise ? 

A. From the tranquil scenes, and pictures of sim¬ 
ple innocence, which it sets before the reader. 

Q. Into what error are writers of pastorals apt to fall ? 

A. That of making the actors, in their different 
scenes, either too gross or too refined. 

Q. What do you understand by Descriptive Poetry T 

A. Poetry, the professed object of which is to give 
a correct delineation of objects, whether natural or 
artificial. 

Q. Is not all poetry, to a certain extent, descriptive ? 

A . Most poetry abounds in descriptions, and is so 
far entitled to the appellation; while no poetry is al¬ 
together descriptive without possessing some other 
characteristics; and, therefore, the term is applied to 
such poetry only as has description for its chief ob¬ 
ject. 

Q. What is the chief excellence of descriptive poetry ? 

A. Its possessing the power of exciting in the mind 
of the reader a correct and vivid picture of the object 
described. 



PART III.] DIDACTIC AND LYRIC POETRY. 153 

Q. What is requisite for the writing of descriptive poetry ? 

A. Acute observation, and great vividness of imagi¬ 
nation, that we may at once observe, and be able to 
delineate, the most striking features of an object or a 
landscape. 

Q. Can you mention any poem that stands very high, and be 
longing to the descriptive class ? % 

A. Thomson’s Seasons, a work which abounds with 
some of the most delightful delineations of nature. 

Q. In what light may we view poetry in which past events are 
described l 

A. As a species of descriptive poetry; and, when 
well executed, it possesses great power both of fas¬ 
cinating and pleasing the mind. 

Q. Can you mention any poetry of this class ? 

A. The most of Sir Walter Scott’s is of this sort, 
but particularly his Lady of the Lake, his Marmion, 
and his Lord of the Isles. 

Q. Are not pastoral poetry and descriptive very much allied to 
each other ? 

A. They are certainly closely connected ; but pas¬ 
toral poetry is a display of rural life and manners; 
descriptive poetry, chiefly a picture of inanimate ob¬ 
jects ; though neither is exclusively confined to its 
own province.—(See Montgomery's Lectures , p. 157- 
167.) 


CHAPTER XII. 

OF DIDACTIC AND LYRIC POETRY. 

Q. What do you mean by Didactic Poetry ? 

A. Poetry employed for the purpose of teaching 
some particular art or science, or other branch of 
knowledge, whether moral or intellectual. 

Q. Is this a pleasing vehicle of knowledge ? 

A. If well executed, there can be but one opinion 
as to its pleasantness, but it may be doubted whether 
it be always a safe mode of acquiring accurate infor¬ 
mation. 

Q. "What are its chief advantages ? 

A. It at once pleases the fancy and assists the 



154 DIDACTIC AND LYRIC POETRY. [PART III. 

memory ; and an obvious truth may often be express¬ 
ed with greater brevity and force in verse than in 
prose. 

Q. What do you conceive to be its disadvantages? 

A. By taking possession of the imagination, it is 
apt to mislead the judgment, and make us ready to 
acquiesce in what is said by the poet, without inquir¬ 
ing into its truth. 

Q. Can you mention any poems of the didactic class ? 

A. Virgil’s Georgies, Pope’s Essay on Criticism, 
Armstrong’s Poem on Health, and some of Cowper’s 
poems, are among the best and most popular of this 
class. 

Q. What is to be understood by Lyric Poetry ? 

A. All poetry intended to be set, or that might be 
set to music, including chiefly songs and odes. 

Q. Was its meaning always so confined? 

A. No; for, in ancient times, it might be said to 
include poetry of all descriptions, as all poetic com¬ 
positions were originally accompanied with music, 
either vocal or instrumental. 

Q. From what is the word lyric derived ? 

A. From the lyre , an important musical instrument 
among the ancients ; and hence the lyre is generally 
an emblem of all poetry. 

Q. What, then, does a poet mean when he speaks of singing or 
tuning his lyfe ? 

A. Simply the writing of poetry ; and he uses these 
expressions in a figurative manner, in reference to the 
inseparable connection which once subsisted between 
poetry and music. 

Q. What do you understand by a song ? 

A A short poem in regular stanzas, and fitted for 
being set to music and sung. 

Q. What is the nature of the ode ? 

A. A poem somewhat irregular in its structure, and 
which may or may not be set to music ; being gener¬ 
ally a short but fervid flow of genius, displaying, in 
animated strains, all the various passions and feelings 
of the human heart. 

Q. Who are our principal writers of odes ? 

A. Dryden, Fope, Collins, Gray, and Warton. 

Q. What do you mean by sonnet ? 


155 


PART III.] DIDACTIC AND LYRIC POETRY. 

A. The word is from the Italian, and literally means 
a little song; but, as usually employed, it signifies a 
short poem, consisting generally of fourteen lines, 
arranged in a particular manner, and ending in some 
pointed thought or sentiment. 

SECTION II. 

EXAMPLES OF ENGLISH LYRICS. 

The first is a small one; but, as Montgomery says, it grows 
(like the taper in the second stanza) clearer and brighter the 
more it is contemplated. It describes a captive under sentence 
of death, and is written by Goldsmith : 

“ The wretch, condemn’d with life to part, 

Still, still on hope relies, 

And every pang that rends his heart 
Bids expectation rise. 

Hope, like the glimmering taper’s light, 

Adorns and cheers his way, 

And still, as darker grows the night, 

Emits a brighter ray.” 

Poetry is the short-hand of thought. This is evident from the 
quantity of thought contained in the few lines that follow : 

TO THE MEMORY OF THOSE WHO FELL IN THE REBELLION OF 1745. 

“ How sleep the brave who sink to rest 
With all their country’s wishes bless’d 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 

Returns to deck their hallow’d mould, 

She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung, 

By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; 

There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, 

To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 

And Freedom shall a while repair 

To dwell, a weeping hermit there.”—C ollins. 

Again, what a quantity of thought is here condensed in the 
compass of twelve lines, like a cluster of rock-crystals, sparkling 
and distinct, yet receiving and reflecting lustre by their combina¬ 
tion. The stanzas themselves are almost unrivaled in the asso¬ 
ciation of poetry with picture, pathos with fancy, grandeur with 
simplicity, and romance with reality. The melody of the verse 
leaves nothing for the ear to desire, except a continuance of the 
strain, or, rather, the repetition of a strain, which can not tire by 
repetition. The imagery is of the most delicate and exquisite 
character, Spring decking the turfy sod, Fancy’s feet treading 
upon the flowers there, fairy hands ringing the knell, unseen 
forms singing the dirge of the glorious dead; but, above all, and 
never to be surpassed in picturesque and imaginative beauty, 
Honor, as an old and broken soldier, coming on a far pilgrimage 


156 


DIDACTIC AND LYRIC POETRY. [PART III. 

to visit the shrine where his companions in arms are laid to rest; 
and Freedom, in whose cause they fought and fell—leaving the 
mountains and fields, the hamlets and the unwalled cities of 
England, delivered by their valor—hastening to the spot, and 
dwelling (but only for “ a while”) “ a weeping hermit there.” 
The sentiment, too, is profound: “ How sleep the brave !” Then, 
in that lovely line, 

“ With all their country’s wishes bless’d!” 
is implied every circumstance of loss and lamentation, of solem¬ 
nity at the interment, and posthumous homage to their memory, 
by the threefold personages of the scene, living, shadowy, and 
preternatural beings. As for thought, he who can hear this little 
dirge “ sung,” as it is, by the “ unseen form” of the author him¬ 
self, who can not die in it—without having thoughts, “ as thick as 
motes that people the sunbeams,” thronging through his mind, 
must have a brain as impervious to the former as the umbrage of 
a South American forest to the latter. There are in its associa¬ 
tions of war, peace, glory, suffering, life, death, immortality, which 
might furnish food for a midsummer-day’s meditation, and a mid¬ 
winter night’s dream afterward, could June and December be 
made to meet in a poet’s revery. 

FROM THE EXEQUY ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED WIFE, 

By Henry King, bishop of Chichester ; bom 1591, died 1669. 

“ Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed, 

Never to be disquieted: 

My last * good-night!’ thou wilt not wake 
Till I thy fate shall overtake ; 

Till age, or grief, or sickness, must 
Marry my body to that dust 
It so much loves, and fill the room 
My heart keeps empty in thy tomb. 

Stay for me there ; I will not fail 
To meet thee in that hollow vale ; 

And think not much of my delay, 

I am already on the way, 

And follow thee with all the speed 
Desire can make, or sorrow breed. 

Each minute is a short degree, 

And every hour a step toward thee , v 
At night, when I betake to rest, 

Next mom I rise nearer my West 
Of life, almost by eight hours’ sail, 

Than when sleep breathed his drowsy gale.” 

What a “ last good-night!” is this ! and oh ! what a one “ good- 
morrow !” to last for eternity, w’hen such partners awake from 
the same bed, in the resurrection of the just! Is there the “ man 
born of a woman,” who has loved a woman, and lost whom he 
loved, and lamented whom he has lost, that will not feel in the 
depth of his spirit all the tenderness and truth of these old-fashion¬ 
ed couplets! I dare not offer a comment upon them, lest I should 
disturb the sanctity of repose which they are calculated to inspire. 


PART III.] DIDACTIC AND EYR1C POETRY, 


157 


Nature speaks all languages; and no style is too quaint or pe¬ 
dantic, in which she may not utter heart-sentiments in terms that 
can not be misunderstood, or, understood, be resisted. 

Dryden’s “ Alexander’s Feast” is undoubtedly the lyric master¬ 
piece of English poetry, in respect to versification; exemplifying, 
as it does, all the capabilities of our language, in the use of iam¬ 
bics, trochees, anapassts, dactyls, and spondees. The metres 
in this composition are so varying, and yet so consonant—so 
harmonious and so contrasted—they implicate and disentangle 
again so naturally, so necessarily almost, that I know not to what 
they can better be compared than to a- group of young lions at 
play—meeting, mingling, separating—pursuing, attacking, repel¬ 
ling—changing attitude, action, motion, every instant—all fire, 
force, and flexibility—exuberant in spirits, yet wasting none; 
while the poet, like the sire, couched and looking on, may be pre¬ 
sumed with his eye to have ruled every turn and crisis of their 
game. He sings, indeed, the triumph of music ; but his poetry 
triumphs over his subject, and he insinuates as much. It was 
less “ the breathing flute and sounding lyre” of Timotheus than 
the living voice, the changing themes, the language of light and 
power of the bard, “that won the $ause.” A single section will 
justify this praise; the measures, it will be observed, change in 
every couplet: there are scarce two lines alike in accentuation, 
yet the whole seems as spontaneous as the cries of alarm and 
consternation excited by the bacchanal orgies described: 

“ Now strike the golden lyre again, 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain; 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 

Hark ! hark ! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head, 

As awaked from the dead, 

And amazed he stares around. 

Revenge ! revenge! Timotheus cries; 

See the furies arise ; 

See the snakes that they rear, 

How they hiss in the air, 

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes 
Behold the ghastly band, 1 

Each a torch m his hand ! 

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle are slain, 

And unburied remain, 

Inglorious on the plain; 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew ! 

Behold how they toss their torches on high— 

How they point to the Persian abodes 
And glittering temples of the hostile gods ! 

The princes applaud with a furious joy, 

And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy 
Thais led the way, 

To light him to his prey, 

And, like another Helen, fired another Troy.” 

0 


158 


EPIC POETRY. 


[part III. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

OF EPIC POETRY. 

Q. What rank does the Epic hold in poetry ? 

A. It generally occupies the first place among po¬ 
etic compositions, and, if well executed, is regarded 
as one of the noblest displays of poetic, if not even of 
human genius. 

. What is its peculiar object ? 

A. . To describe some great and important action or 
event, for the purpose of making it subservient to 
moral instruction. 

Q. What other name does it often receive 1 

A. It is frequently styled heroic poetry, because, m 
every poem of this sort, there is a leading character 
called the hero. 

Q. Why is he so named ? 

A. Because the whole course of the action, and 
train of the events, are made to turn upon the manner 
in which he performs his part. 

Q. W'hat name does the plan of such a work commonly receive ? 

A. It is commonly called the plot, which denotes 
the arranging of all the various parts into a regular 
whole. 

Q. And in what manner is the plot carried on ? 

A. Partly by the descriptions and details which the 
poet himself makes; and partly by the introduction 
of actors, who have all their different parts to perform. 

Q. What is this selecting and arranging of the different parts 
called ? 

A. It is usually styled the machinery, which denotes 
the means adopted by the poet for carrying his plot to 
a conclusion. 

Q. Does he begin and give a regular account of the whole trans¬ 
action from the commencement ? 

A. No; he generally begins in the middle, but at 
some important part of the narrative; and, after de¬ 
scribing the state of things as then existing, he intro¬ 
duces different actors to explain what had led to such 
events. 

Q. What name is given to those parts which are introduced aa 
if for mere embellishment ? 

A. They are called episodes, which mean separate 


PART III.] DRAMATIC POETRY. 159 

incidents or stories, having an intimate, though not a 
necessary connection with the main action. 

Q. How should an epic poem be arranged ? 

A. With such order and regularity, that all the parts 
may have a close dependence upon each other. 

Q. What ought the sentiments and language to be ? 

A. Lofty and dignified, always moving with majesty, 
and never stooping to what is mean or trivial. 

Q. What must be the character of the style? 

A. It may, in point of ornament, admit of every va¬ 
riety of which composition is susceptible ; but its lead¬ 
ing feature ought to be sublimity. 

Q. Have there been many great epic poems produced ? 

A. Very few, compared with the number of excel¬ 
lent productions in almost every other description of 
poetry, 

Q. Can you mention the principal ? 

A. The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer, the iEneid of 
Virgil, the Jerusalem ^Delivered of Tasso, and the Par¬ 
adise Lost of Milton. 

Q. Can you mention the subjects of each of these ? 

A. The subject of the Iliad is the destruction of 
Troy; of the Odyssey, the wanderings of Ulysses; of 
the iEneid, the settlement of JGneas in Italy ; of the 
Jerusalem, its deliverance from Mussulman oppres¬ 
sion; and of Paradise Lost, the fall of man from his 
primitive state of innocence, and consequent expulsion 
from the garden of Eden. 


CHAPTER XIV 

OF DRAMATIC POETRY. 

Q. What do you underst \nd by Dramatic Poetry ? 

A. Poetry founded upon a regular plot or story, and 
fitted to be represented by action on the stage. 

Q. In what does it differ from epic poetry ? 

A. In its containing no narrative on the part of tne 
poet, being all spoken or performed by the different 
actors or characters who arc introduced. 

Q. What is the greatest excellence of dramatic poetry ? 

A. Its being in accordance with nature, and making 
a near approach to the character of real life 



160 DRAMATIC POETRY. [PART III. 

Q. What, then, are the chief objects of dramatic poetry ? 

A. Men and manners, with an exhibition of all the 
various passions, virtues, and vices incident to human 
nature. 

Q. How many sorts of dramatic poetry are there ? 

A. Chiefly two—Tragedy and Comedy. 

Q. What constitutes the difference between these ? 

A. Tragedy is founded principally upon the loftier 
passions, virtues, vices, successes, and distresses of 
mankind; comedy, on their whims, fancies, humors, 
vagaries, foibles, and follies. 

Q. What are the passions which they chiefly awaken ? 

A. Terror, pity, and indignation, are the passions 
chiefly excited by tragedy; ridicule and contempt, 
those principally produced by comedy. 

Q. What knowledge would the dramatic writer require partic¬ 
ularly to possess ? 

A. An intimate acquaintance with life and charac¬ 
ter, as well as with all the different movements and 
operations of the human heart. 

Q. What must be the style of dramatic poetry ? 

A. Its style must depend altogether upon the na¬ 
ture of the subject, and the character of the different 
actors. 

Q. Who may be regarded as the best dramatic writer ? 

A. He who best displays the workings and effects 
of human passion, and gives to every character the 
greatest distinctness and personality. 

Q. Is tragedy a very common species of composition ? 

A. Very much so; it prevailed greatly among the 
Greeks and the Romans, and has since found a place 
in the literature of every nation in Europe. 

Q. Can you mention any of the most distinguished ancient dra¬ 
matic writers ? 

A. Sophocles, Euripides, and Aristophanes, among 
the Greeks; and Plautus and Terence, among the Ro 
mans. 

Q. Who aie among the most eminent of modem dramatic wri¬ 
ters ? 

A. Racine and Moliere among the French; and 
Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Dry- 
den, Otway, and Congreve, among the English; with 
a few German, Italian, and Spanish names of consid- 


PART III.] HYMNS, ELEGY, ETC. 161 

erable celebrity.—(See Montgomery ' 1 s Lectures, p. 149, 
150, 151.) 


CHAPTER XV. 

OF HYMNS, ELEGY, ETC. 

Q. What do you understand by a Hymn ? 

A. A religious poem, fit for being set to music and 
sung, for the purpose of awakening devotional feelings. 

Q. Can you mention some of the most distinguished writers of 
hymns? 

A. Watts, Pope, Addison, Logan, Cowper, Montgom¬ 
ery, Edmeston, with almost all our most distinguished 
modern poets. 

Q. What is an Elegy ? 

A. A short pathetic poem, in commemoration of the 
dead, though it often assumes a different character, 
and is applied to any plaintive subject. (See Part VI., 
sec. vii.) 

Q. Can you give an example of an elegy ? 

A. The following is an ironical elegy, from the pen 
of Goldsmith, and discovers more wit than pathos: 

AN ELEGY 

ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 

Good people all, with one accord. 

Lament for Madame Blaize, 

Who never wanted a good word— 

From those who spoke her praise 
The needy seldom pass’d her door, 

And always found her kind; 

She freely lent to all the poor—■ 

Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighborhood to please, 

With manners wond’rous winning • 

And never follow’d wicked ways— 

Unless when she was sinning. 

At church in silks and satins new 
With hoop of monstrous size, 

She never slumber’d in her pew— 

But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver, 

By twenty beaux and more; 

The king himself has follow’d her— 

When she has walk’d before. 

0 2 



162 


HYMNS, ELEGY, ETC. 


[part iir. 


But now, her wealth and finery fled, 

Her hangers-on cut short all; 

The doctors found, when she was dead— 

Her last disorder mortal. 

Let us lament in sorrow sore, 

For Kent-street well may say, 

That had she lived a twelvemonth more— 

She had not died to-day. 

Q. What is a Satire ? 

A. A species of writing, not entirely, though chiefly, 
confined to poetry, and intended to correct the vices 
and follies of mankind, by holding them up to laughter 
and ridicule. 

Q. Can you name any poetical satirists of note ? 

A. Horace, Juvenal, and Persius, among the Ro¬ 
mans ; with Dryden, Pope, Young, Churchill, and Wal 
cot, among the British, are all famous for this descrip¬ 
tion of writing. 

Q. What do you mean by an Epigram ? 

A. A short, witty poem, containing some peculiar 
conceit or point of humor, usually expressed in the 
concluding lines. 

Q. Can you give an example of an epigram ? 

A. The following lines from Wordsworth may 
serve as a specimen : 

“ Swans sing before they die—’twere no bad thing 
Did certain persons die before they sing.” 

Q. What do you mean by an Epitaph ? 

A. An inscription upon a tombstone, or some pub 
lie building, written sometimes in verse, sometimes 
in prose 1 

Q. Can you give an example of an epitaph? 

A. Thomas Gray has produced one that is de 
servedly admired. We quote it, though familiar: 

“ Here rests his head upon the lap of earth. 

A youth to fortune and to fame unknown; 

Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth, 

And Melancholy mark’d him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 

He gave to misery all he had, a tear; 

He gained from Heaven (’twas all he wish’d) a friend. 


SONNET. 


163 


PART III.J 

Vo farther seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
The bosom of his Father and his God.” 


EPITAPH ON JOHNSON, 

BY COWPER. 

' Here Johnson lies—a sage by all allow’d, 

Whom to have bred may well make England proud ; 
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, 

The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought; 

Whose verse may claim—grave, masculine, and strong— 
Superior praise to the mere poet’s song; 

Who many a noble sight from Heaven possess’d, 

And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. 

O man, immortal by a double prize. 

By fame on earth—by glory in the skies!” 


EPITAPH ON HENRY K. WHITE, 

BY BYRON. 

No marble marks thy couch of lowly sleep, 

But living statues there are seen to weep; 

Affliction’s semblance bends not o’er thy tomb, 

Affliction’s self deplores thy youthful doom 

Q! Are not letters sometimes written in verse ? 

A. Frequently ; and much excellent poetry has ap¬ 
peared under the character of epistles, particularly 
from the pen of Pope. 

Q. Is the line of distinction between the different descriptions 
of poetry very clear ? 

A. Far from it; the one sort runs always less or 
more into the other; and all the species are, to a cer¬ 
tain extent, entitled to the character of descriptive 
and didactic, as they are almost all used, in some de¬ 
gree, for the purpose both of describing and teaching. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

OF THE SONNET. 

Q. What is a Sonnet ? 

A. A short, pointed poem, of fourteen lines, either 
expressive of some strong feeling, or descriptive of 





3 64 


SONNET. 


[part m. 

some striking object; and so constructed, that the 
first, fourth, fifth, and eighth; the second and third; 
the sixth, and seventh; the ninth, eleventh, and thir¬ 
teenth ; and the tenth, twelfth, and fourteenth lines, 
form rhymes with each other. 

Q. Can you giv^an example of a sonnet? 

A. The following, “ To Sleep,” is a very fine spec* 
men of one from Wordsworth : 

** A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by, 

One after one; the sound of rain, and bees 
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds, and seas, 

Smooth fields; white sheets of water, and pure skv. 

I thought of all by turns, and yet I lie 
Sleepless! and soon the small birds’ melodies 
Must hear, first utter’d from my orchard trees, 

And the first cuckoo’s melancholy cry. 

Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay 
And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth, 

So do not let me wear to-night away. 

Without Thee, what is all the morning’s wealth! 

Come, bless'd barrier between day and day, 

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health.” 

Q. Is the sonnet a common species of poetry ? 

A. It is far from being common in English; but it 
is frequently to be met with in Italian. 

Q. To what is this difference owing ? 

A. To the circumstance chiefly of the Italian lan¬ 
guage being better adapted to this kind of poetry than 
the English. 

Q. Can you mention some of the most distinguished writers of 
sonnets ? 

A. Petrarch stands at the head of the Italian son¬ 
neteers ; while Shakspeare, Milton, and Wordsworth, 
are the most distinguished among the English. 

Q. Why should a sonnet be confined to fourteen lines rather 
than any other number ? 

A. “ The quota of lines (says Montgomeiy), nnd the arrange¬ 
ment of rhymes and pauses, already established in the regular 
sonnet, have been deemed, after the experience of five centuries, 
incapable of improvement by extension or reduction ; whim the 
form itself has been proved to be the most convenient and grace¬ 
ful that ever was invented, for disclosing, embellishing, and en¬ 
compassing the noblest or the loveliest, the gayest or the gravest 
ide&, that genius, in its happiest moments of rapture or of melan¬ 
choly, could inspire. The employment of this form by the finest 
Italian poets, for expressing, with pathos and power irresistible 


PART III.] LITERARY MERIT OF THE BIBLE. 165 

their selectest and purest conceptions, is an argument of fact 
against all speculative objections, in favor of the intrinsic excel¬ 
lence and unparalleled perfection of the sonnet.” 

He adds : 

“ Mr. Wordsworth has redeemed the English language from 
the opprobrium of not admitting the legitimate sonnet in its se 
verest, as well as its most elegant construction. The following, 
though according to the strictest precedents, and therefore the 
least agreeable to unaccustomed ears, is full of deep harmony, 
strong sentiment, and chastened, yet impassioned feeling. The 
Tyrolese, amid their Alpine fastnesses, are represented as return¬ 
ing this lofty answer to the insulting demand of unconditional 
surrender to French invaders. If their own mountains had 
spoken, they could not have replied more majestically. 

4 ‘ The land we, from our fathers, had in trust. 

And to our children will transmit, or die ; 

This is our maxim, this our piety, 

And God and Nature say that it is just: 

That which we would perform in arms we must' 

We read the dictate in the infant’s eye. 

In the wife’s smile ; and in the placid sky. 

And at our feet, amid the silent dust 
Of them that were before ns. Sing aloud 
Old songs— the precious music of the heart! 

Give, herds and flocks, your voices to the wind, 

While we go forth, a self-devoted crowd, 

With weapons in the fearless hand, to assert 
Our virtue, and to vindicate mankind.” 

[See the sketch of Wordsworth , Part VI., sec. xxiii.l 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LITERARY MERIT AND STYLE OF THE ENGLISH BIBLE. 

[Dr. G. Spring, of New-York, in a recent course of lectures, has presented 
this subject in a just and striking light. The following remarks are gleaned 
from one of his lectures.] 

The world is filled with books that are the product of the 
mightiest sons of genius; but they are sterile and jejune, 
deformed and ungainly, in comparison with the riches of 
thought, the extent of research, the accuracy, the grace, and 
beauty which distinguish the Bible. 

Without the Scriptures, the world would be profoundly 
ignorant of some of the most important and interesting 
points of historical inquiry. The narrative of Moses com¬ 
pletely covers that period of history which, with other na¬ 
tions, is called fabulous , and which is merged in the regions 
of fabrication and conjecture. 



166 LITERARY MERIT OF THE BIBLE. [PART III. 

There are multitudes of facts and phenomena , loth in the 
natural and moral world , that never could be accounted for, 
but for the Mosaic history. The Bible is the great source 
and standard of ancient chronology. It may, indeed, be just¬ 
ly considered as the standard of a polished and useful litera¬ 
ture. The characteristic style of the Bible is, that it is al¬ 
ways adapted to the subjects of which it speaks. A chaste, 
nervous diction distinguishes all its compositions. It is 
strongly marked by its simplicity, its strength, and often its 
unrivaled sublimity and beauty. Its manner of writing, with 
regard to the choice and arrangement of words, is at all 
times dignified and serious, and at a great remove from 
the pomp and parade of artificial ornament. Every where 
we see that its great object is to inculcate truth , and that it 
uses words only to clothe and render impressive the thoughts 
it would convey. There is both rhetoric and inspiration in 
the Bible ; but amid all the boldness and felicity of its in¬ 
ventions, there is no over-doing—no making the most of 
every thing — no needless comment — but every thing is 
plain, concise, and unaffectedly simple. 

In the historical compositions of the Scriptures, we have 
the most simple, natural, affecting, and well-told narratives 
in the world. For impartiality and fidelity, unvarnished 
truth, choice of matter, unity, concise and graphic descrip¬ 
tions of character, and, above all, its usef ulness , the histori¬ 
cal parts of the Bible are without a parallel. The charac¬ 
ters walk and breathe. They are nature, and nothing but 
nature. By a single stroke of the pencil you often have 
their portrait. You see them—you hear them. And hence 
the finest subjects for historic painting within the circle of the 
Fine Arts have been selected from the Scriptures. The 
best artists have awarded to them this distinguished honor, 
and one reason why they have done so obviously is, that 
profane history furnishes no such themes. 

And what is there to equal the didactic and argumentative 
portions of the Scriptures, furnished by the prophets, or in 
the discourses of our Savior and the epistles of Paul 1 Read 
the fifth, sixth, and seventh chapters of Matthew, the third, 
fourth, fifth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth 
chapters of John, the eighth and eleventh of Romans, the 
fifteenth of 1 Corinthians, the thirty-eighth, thirty-ninth, 
fortieth, and forty-first of Job. No where, out of the Bible, 
can be found passages of equal force, sublimity, and simpli¬ 
city. Their flowers do not fade, nor does their fruit lose 


PART III.J LITERARY MERIT OF THE BIBLE. 167 

its freshness. They are always new, and more and more 
deeply interest a classical mind, the oftener they are read 
and the better they are known. 

In reference to the poetical parts, where is there poetry 
that can be compared with the song of Moses, at his victory 
over Pharaoh; with the Psalms of David, and with the 
prophecies of Isaiah, and some others 1 Where is there an 
elegiac ode to be compared with the song of David upon the 
death of Saul and Jonathan, or the Lamentations of Jere¬ 
miah l Like the rapid, glowing argumentations of Paul, the 
poetic parts of the Bible may be read a thousand times, and 
they have all the glow and freshness of the first perusal. 
Where, in the compass of human language, is there a par¬ 
agraph, which, for boldness and variety of metaphor, deli¬ 
cacy and majesty of thought, strength and invention, ele¬ 
gance and refinement, equals the passage in which “ God 
answers Job out of the whirlwind V’ I can not but love the 
poetic associations of the Bible. Now, they are sublime 
and beautiful, like the mountain torrent, swollen and impet¬ 
uous by the sudden bursting of the cloud. Now, they are 
grand and awful as the stormy Galilee, when the tempest 
beat upon the fearful disciples. And, again, they are placid 
as that calm lake when the Savior’s feet have pressed upon 
its waters and stilled them into peace. 

English literature is no common debtor to the Bible. 
There is not a finer character, nor a finer description in all 
the works of Walter Scott, than that of Rebekah, in Ivan- 
hoe. And who does not see that it owes its excellence to 
the Bible 1 Shakspeare, Milton, Bryant, Young, and Southey, 
are not a little indebted for some of their best scenes and 
inspirations to the same source. 

May it not be doubted, whether scholars have been suffi¬ 
ciently sensible of their obligations to our common English 
Bible ? It is the purest specimen of English, or anglo-Sax- 
on, to be found in the world. As a model of style, “'it is,” 
says Cheever, “ pure, native, uncorrupted, idiomatic Eng¬ 
lish. It is the best preservation of our language in all our 
literature. It has most of the old, honest, simple, vigorous, 
expressive Saxon, which is the main body of the excellence 
of our language.” Addison has remarked, that “ there is a 
certain coldness in the phrases of European languages, com¬ 
pared with the Oriental forms of speech; that the English 
tongue has received innumerable improvements from an in¬ 
fusion of Hebraisms, derived from the practical passages in 


168 


FORM OF BIBLE POETRY. [PART HI. 

Holy Writ; that these warm and animate our language, 
giving it force and energy, and conveying our thoughts in 
ardent and intense phrases, and setting the mind in a flame.” 

1 know of no standard by which the character of literary and 
scientific men may be so safely and successfully formed. The 
more he reads, the more, I am confident, an accomplished 
scholar will study the Bible. There are no finer English 
scholars than the men educated north of the Tweed ; and 
there are none who, from their childhood, are so well ac¬ 
quainted with the Bible. I have heard it said that the 
characteristic wit of Scotchmen is attributable to their early 
familiarity with the Proverbs of Solomon. No well-informed 
man is ignorant of the Bible. We can better afford to part 
with every other book from our family libraries, our schools 
and colleges, than this finished production of the Infinite 
Mind. 

QUESTIONS ON THIS CHAPTER. 

1. What is said of the highest productions of human genius compared 
with the Bible ? 

2. What do we learn from the Bible not found in other ancient books ? 

3. Of what may it be considered the standard ? 

4. What are the characteristics of its style ? 

5. What is said of its historical portion 1 

6. What of its didactic and argumentative ? 

7. What of its poetical? 

8. What of the indebtedness of English literature to the Bible ? 

9. What of our obligations to our common English version of it* 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE FORM OF BIBLE POETRY. 

Among certain portions of the books of the 01« 
Testament, there is such an apparent diversity of 
style, as sufficiently discovers which of them are to 
be considered as poetical, and which as prose compo¬ 
sitions. 

In Exodus, chap, xiv., an historical account is given 
of the drowning of the Egyptians in the Red Sea; in 
chap, xv., the same event is poetically described. 
Says the history, “ Moses stretched out his hand over 
the sea, and the Lord caused the sea to go back by a 
strong east wind all that night, and made the sea dry 
land, and the waters were divided.” Says the same 



PART III.] FORM OF BIBLE POETRY ' 169 

writer, as a poet, “ With the blast of thy nostrils, the 
waters were gathered together, the floods stood up¬ 
right in a heap, and the depths were congealed in the 
heart of the sea.” The “ strong east wind” becomes 
“the blast of the Almighty’s nostrils;” the “divided 
waters” stand “ upright,” “ are congealed.” The poet 
is dramatic. The enemy said, “ I will pursue, I will 
overtake, I will divide the spoil; my lust shall be sat¬ 
isfied upon them ; I will draw the sword, my hand 
shall destroy them.” This, by-the-way, is also a 
beautiful example of a poetic climax. 

The difference is thus clearly seen in the style of 
the same book; at one time historic, at another po¬ 
etic. 

Take another illustration from the same connection. 
“ The waters returned,” says the historian, “ and cov¬ 
ered the chariots and the horsemen, and all the hosts 
of Pharaoh, that came into the sea after them : there 
remained not so much as one of them.” 

The same event is thus described poetically in the 
song of Moses : “ Thou didst blow with thy wind; 
the sea covered them. They sank as lead in the 
mighty waters. Who is like unto Thee, 0 Lord, 
among the gods 1 Who is like Thee, glorious in ho¬ 
liness, fearful in praises, doing wonders 1”—(See Bib. 
Repository for April , 1842.) 

For another illustration, compare the style of the 
first and second chapters of the Book of Job, with 
Job’s speech in the beginning of the next chapter. 
You pass at once from the region of prose to that of 
poetry. There is an alteration in the cadence of the 
sentence and in the arrangement of words, as well as 
the figures of speech, to assure you of this 

Didactic poetry is found in the Book of Proverbs ; 
elegiac , in the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and in that 
of David and Jonathan ; pastoral , in the Song of Solo¬ 
mon ; lyric , in the whole Book of Psalms, the Song 
of Moses, and of Deborah; dramatic , as some suppose, 
in the Book of Job. 

The Hebrew poetry is singular, and unlike any other in 
its construction. It consists in dividing every period 
P 


170 


FORM OF BIDRE POETRY. [PART III. 


into correspondent, for the most part into equal mem¬ 
bers, which answer to one another both in sense and 
sound. In the first member of the period a sentiment 
is expressed; and in the second member, the same 
sentiment is amplified, or is repeated in different 
terms, or sometimes contrasted with its opposite; but 
in such a manner, that the same structure and nearly 
the same number of words are preserved. This is the 
general strain of Hebrew poetry. It did not include 
rhyme — the terminations of the lines, when they 
are most distinct, never manifesting any thing of the 
kind. Thus, “ Sing unto the Lord a new song—sing 
unto the Lord all the earth. Sing unto the Lord, and 
bless his name—show forth his salvation from day to 
day.” It is owing, in a great measure, to this form 
of composition, that our version, though in prose, re¬ 
tains so much of a poetical cast. For the version being 
strictly word for word after the original, the form and 
order of the original sentence are preserved; which, 
by this artificial structure, this regular alternation and 
correspondence of parts, makes the ear sensible of a 
departure from the common style and tone of prose. 

Those who desire to see to great advantage the po¬ 
etical diction of even our common English version of 
the Bible, should procure a copy of Dr. Coit’s arrange¬ 
ment. His edition, also, of Townsend’s Bible is beau¬ 
tiful, and to be highly recommended to the reader of 
fine taste, and to one who desires fully to appreciate 
the sacred writings as it is probable they were at first 
chronologically given — the historic and poetic por¬ 
tions, thus arranged, throwing great light upon each 
other. 

Questions.—1. Are the books of the Old Testament composed in a 
uniform style 1 

2. What examples of diversity of style are given ? 

3. What various kinds of poetry do you find in the Old Testament, and 
what examples of each ? 

4. What general view is given of the construction of Hebrew poetry ? 

We can not close this account of the splendid liter¬ 
ature of the Bible without quoting from the Methodist 
Quarterly Review for October, 1842, what follows : 

The Duke of Buckingham thus eulogizes the prince of Epic 
poets: 


FORM OF BIBLE POETRY. 


171 


PART III.] 

Read Homer once, and you can read no more, 

For all books else appear so mean, so poor. 

Verse shall seem prose ; but still persist to read, 

And Homer will be all the books you need.” 

This is the language of a professed friend of the Puritan refor¬ 
mation and faith. The Bible itself is not excepted. It was once 
fashionable thus to depreciate the literature of the Scriptures. 
The fashion still remains, and Christians are sometimes seen to 
bend the knee at this unholy shrine. The exclusive and fulsome 
praise bestowed by the ostensible friends of religion, upon the 
writers of classical paganism, is enough to move the pity of a 
heathen, or stir the indignation of a seraph. Let us make a brief 
comparison of Homer with Job, in describing the same object— 
the favorite animal of the Greek poet—the horse—that which he 
most admires (loves) to describe ; and it shall be the horse of his 
hero. 


“ The winged coursers harness'd io the car , 

Xanthus and Balius, of immortal breed, 

Sprung from the wind , and like the wind in speed : 

Whom the winged harpy, swift Podarge, bore, 

By Zephyrus upon the breezy shore ; 

Swift Pedasus was added to their side. 

★ * ★ * + * * 

Who, like in strength, in swiftness, and in grace, 

A mortal courser watch'd the immortal race.” 

Without emphasis, without italics, without versification 
even, let us now listen to the majesty of the Hebrew poet • 

“ Hast thou given the horse strength? 

Hast thou clothed his neck with thunder? 

Canst thou make him afraid as the grasshopper? 

The glory of his nostrils is terrible ! 

He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength 1 
He goeth out to meet the armed men ! 
lie mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted. 

Neither turneth he back from the sword ! 

The quiver rattleth against him ; 

The glittering spear and the shield! 

He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage !” 


PART IV. 

ORIGINAL COMPOSITION. 


The author would here refer to what is said in the 
Preliminary Observations, under the head of Prepar¬ 
atory Exercises* and in pursuance, recommend the 
following common-sense plan proposed by Whateley, 
in his work on Rhetoric. 


CHAPTER I. 

SELECTION OF PROPER SUBJECTS. 

There should be a most scrupulous care in the se¬ 
lection of such subjects for exercises as are likely to be 
interesting to the student , and on which he has, or may 
(with pleasure, and without much toil) acquire suffi¬ 
cient information. Such subjects will of course vary, 
according to the learner’s age and intellectual advance¬ 
ment ; but they had better be rather below, than much 
above him; that is, they should never be such as to 
induce him to string together vague general expres¬ 
sions, conveying no distinct ideas to his own mind, 
and second-hand sentiments which he does not feel. 
He may freely transplant, indeed, from other writers 
such thoughts as will take root in the soil of his own 
mind ; but he must never be tempted to collect dried 
sentiments. He must also' be encouraged to express 
himself (in correct language, indeed, but) in a free, 
natural, and simple style; which, of course, implies 
(considering who and what the writer is supposed to 
be) such a style as, in itself, would be open to severe 
criticism, and certainly very unfit to appear in a book. 

Compositions on such easy subjects, and in such a 
style, would, by some, be disdained as puerile ; but 
the compositions of boys must be*puerile, in one way 
or the other, whether by being adapted to their age 
and rendered intelligible, or by being made up of un¬ 
meaning, but loftier and superfluous expressions. 




PART IV.] SELECTION OF PROPER SUBJECTS. 173 

Subjects for composition , selected on the principle here 
recommended, will generally fall under one of three 
classes : 

First : subjects drawn from the studies the learner is 
engaged in, relating, for instance, to the characters or 
incidents of any history he may be reading ; and some¬ 
times, perhaps, leading him to forestall, by conjecture, 
something which he will hereafter come to in the book 
itself. 

Secondly, subjects drawn from any conversation he 
may have listened to ( with interest) from his seniors, 
whether addressed to himself, or between each other: 
or, 

Thirdly, relating to the amusements, familiar oc¬ 
currences, and every-day transactions, which are likely 
to have formed the topics of easy conversation among 
his familiar friends. 

The student should not be confined too exclusively 
to any one of these three classes of subjects. They 
should be intermingled in as much variety as possible. 

The teacher should frequently recall to his own 
mind these two considerations : 

First, that since the benefit proposed does not con¬ 
sist in the intrinsic value of the composition, but in 
the exercise to the pupil’s mind, it matters not how in¬ 
significant the .subject may be, if it will but interest 
him, and thereby afford him such exercise; and, 

Secondly, the younger and more backward each 
student is, the more unfit he will be for abstract specu¬ 
lations, and the less remote must be the subjects from 
those individual objects and occurrences , which always 
form the first beginnings of the furniture of the youth¬ 
ful mind. 

If this system be pursued, with the addition of sed¬ 
ulous care in correction, encouragement from the 
teacher, and inculcation of such general rules as each 
occasion calls for, then, and not otherwise , original 
exercises in composition will be of the most import¬ 
ant and lasting advantage, not only in respect of the 
object immediately proposed, but in producing clearness 
of thought and in giving play to all the faculties. 


I 


174 NARRATIVE ESSAYS. [PART IV. 

SUGGESTIONS TO THE STUDENT WHEN BEGINNING TO WRITE UPON 

ANY SUBJECT. 

When you are to write upon any subject, the best way of enter¬ 
ing upon it is to set down what your own mind furnishes, and 
say ah you can before you descend to consult books, and read upon 
it; for if you apply to books before you have laid your plan, you* 
own thoughts will be dissipated, and you will dwindle from a 
composer to a transcriber. 

In thinking upon a subject, you are to consider that every prop¬ 
osition is an answer to some question ; so that, if you can answer 
all the questions that can be put to you concerning it, you have a 
thorough understanding of it; and, in order to compose, you have 
nothing to do but to ask yourself those questions ; by which you 
will raise from your mind the latent matter, and having once got 
it, you may dispose of it, and put it into form afterward. 

By this way of asking questions, a subject is drawn out, so that 
you may view it in all its parts, and treat it with little difficulty, 
provided you have acquired a competent knowledge of it by read 
ing or discoursing about it in time past: where no water is in the 
well, you may pump forever without effect. 

The various kinds of Original Composition, in which 
the preceding 1 Rules and Exercises may be practiced, 
are Narrative, Descriptive, and Miscellaneous Essays * 


CHAPTER II. 

NARRATIVE essays. 

Narrative essays relate events which should be re¬ 
corded in the order of time; and facts, which should 
be mentioned in the order of place. 

Write narrative essays from detached sentences 
given out by the teacher. 

EXAMPLE 

David was born at Bethlehem. 

He was sent to the camp to inquire for his brothers. 

He was provoked to hear the Israelites challenged by Goliath. 

He slew their champion with a stone thrown from a sling, and the Phi¬ 
listines fled.f 

* The teacher may occasionally vary the exercises in Original Composi 
tion, by making his pupils write them in the form of Letters, which 
ought to be composed in a more easy and familiar style than regular Essays. 

+ The teacher can be at no loss for subjects of narrative essays. After 
his pupils have had some practice in original composition, he may discon¬ 
tinue giving them detached sentences, especially when the narratives are 
taken from Scripture history. 




PART IV.] 


DESCRIPTIVE ESSAYS. 


175 


CHAPTER III. 

DESCRIPTIVE ESSAYS. 

Descriptive Essays give an account of persons, an¬ 
imals, places, objects, &c. 

EXERCISES. 

1. The Apostle Paul; his birthplace ; by whom educated; in the cpin 
ions of what sect; on what occasion first mentioned in Scripture ; for what 
then remarkable ; his conversion; subsequent history; for what distin¬ 
guished. 

2. Jerusalem ; its situation ; remarkable localities in the city and neigh¬ 
borhood ; when first mentioned in history ; to whom originally belonged ; 
when the citadel taken by the Israelites ; by whom made the capital ; the 
most famous of its public buildings ; how many times taken and plundered; 
the most remarkable events in its history ; by whom destroyed ; by whom 
rebuilt; present state. 

, 3. Rome ; by whom founded ; on what built; most famous public build¬ 
ings mentioned in history; extent and population in the time of Augustus , 
present state. 

4. The elephant; where found ; size ; appearance ; food ; habits; utility 

5. The seasons ; appearances of nature; operations ; amusements, &c. 
at the different periods of the year. 

6. Give the principal events in the lives of characters recorded in the 
Scriptures. 

7. Give an account of several events recorded therein-* 

8. Describe certain animals, their habits, uses, &e. 

9. Describe scenes and events that have been observed by the scholar. 

10. Describe various occupations of life—kinds of business—amusements, 
&c. 

11. Describe various studies—their uses, &c. 

12. Give a description of familiar objects of sight—their forms, materials, 
structure, &c. 


CHAPTER IV. 

descriptive essays {continued). 

Compare one object with another, pointing ont the 
things in which they agree and in which they differ. 
For Examples take the following: 

Water and air—a newspaper and a book—a tea-cup and a wine¬ 
glass— a canal and a rail-road—a wagon and a sleigh—a horse and 

v, ^ 

* As recommended in the preceding note, the teacher may discontinue 
giving hints, when his pupils have had some practice in writing descrip¬ 
tive essays. When they have a competent knowledge of geography and 
local history, narration and description may be combined by making them 
write imaginary excursions, travels. Sec-, either in the foim of essays, let¬ 
ters, or journals. 



176 


MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. [PART IV. 


an ox—a common school and an academy—a barometer and a 
thermometer—a pin and a needle—food and education—a tree and 
an animal—snow and rain. 


CHAPTER V. 


MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS, 


Write miscellaneous essays according to the fol¬ 
lowing method : 

I. The Definition: state the subject distinctly, and, if neces¬ 
sary, explain it by a formal definition, a paraphrase, or a descrip¬ 
tion. 

II. The Cause : show what is the occasion of the subject, or 
from what it proceeds. 

III. The Antiquity or Novelty: show whether the subject 
was known in ancient times ; in what state it was, if known; and 
in what state it is in modern times. 

IV. The Universality or Locality : show whether the sub¬ 
ject relates to the whole world, or only to a particular portion 
Of it. 

V. The Effects : examine whether the subject be good 01 
bad; show wherein its excellence or inferiority consists; and 

int out the advantages or disadvantages which arise from it. 



scribe the feelings or reflections excited. 

EXAMPLE. 

On Friendship.* 


I. Friendship is an attachment between persons of congenial disposi¬ 
tions, habits, and pursuits. 

II. It has its origin in the nature and condition of man. He is a social 
creature, and naturally loves to frequent the society, and enjoy the affec¬ 
tions, of those who are like himself. He is also, individually, a feeble 
creature, and a sense of this weakness renders friendship indispensable to 
him. When he has all other enjoyments within his reach, he still finds 
his happiness incomplete, unless participated by one whom he considers 
his friend. When in difficulty and distress, he looks around for advice, 
assistance, and consolation. 

III. No wonder, therefore, that a sentiment of such importance to man 
should have been so frequently and so largely considered. We can scarcely 
open any of the volumes of antiquity without being reminded how excellent 

* This subject, and those which follow, may also be proposed in th« 
form of questions ; thus: 

I. What is friendship? 

II. What is the cause of friendship? 

III. What was anciently thought of friendship, and what examples art 
on record ? What is friendship seldom remarkable for in modern times 1 

IV. Is friendship confined to any particular rank in life, or state of 
dety» 

V. What are the benefits of true, and the evils of false friendship * 



177 


PART IV.] MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. 


a thing- is friendship. The examples of David and Jonathan, Achilles and 
Patroclus, Pylades and Orestes, Nisus and Euryalus, Damon and Pythias, 
all show to what a degree of enthusiasm it was sometimes carried. J3ut it 
is to be feared that, in modern times, friendship is seldom remarkable for 
similar devotedness. With some it is nominal rather than real, and with 
others it is regulated entirely by self-interest. 

IV. Yet it would, no doubt, be possible to produce, from every rank in 
life, and from every state of society, instances of sincere and disinterested 
friendship, creditable to human nature, and to the age in which we live. 

V. After these remarks, to enlarge on the benefits of possessing a real 
friend appears unnecessary. What would be more intolerable than,the 
consciousness that, in all the wide world, not one heart beat in unison 
with our own, or cared for our welfare 1 What indescribable happiness 
must it be, on the other hand, to possess a real friend ; a friend who will 
counsel, instruct, assist; who will bear a willing part in our calamity, and 
cordially rejoice when the hour of happiness returns ! Let us remember, 
however, that all who assume the name of friends are not entitled to our 
confidence. History records many instances of the fatal consequences of 
infidelity in friendship ; and it can not be denied that the world contains 
men, who are happy to find a heart they can pervert, or a head they can 
mislead, if thus their unworthy ends can be more surely attained 

EXERCISES. 


1 . 

2 . 

3. 

4. 

5. 

6 . 

7. 


Periodical Literature. 
Education. 

On Youth. 

On Old Age. 

On Dramatic Entertainments. 
On Books. 

On Traveling. 


8. On Poetry. 

9. On Painting 

10. On Music. 

11. On Commerce. 

12. On Gaming. 

13. On Chivalry. 

14. On Philosophy. 


15. Difference between Happiness and Wisdom. 


CHAPTER VI. 

miscellaneous essays ( continued ,). 

Write miscellaneous essays according to the fol¬ 
lowing method: \ 

I. The Proposition, or Narrative: where you show the 

meaning of the subject, by amplification, paraphrase, or expla¬ 
nation. * 

II. The Reason : where you prove the truth of the proposition 
by some reason or argument. 

III. The Confirmation: where you show the unreasonable¬ 
ness of the contrary opinion, or advance some other reason in 
support of the former. 

IV. The Simile : where you illustrate the truth of what is af¬ 
firmed by introducing some comparison. 

V. The Example: where you bring instances from history to 
corroborate the truth of your affirmations or the soundness of your 
reasoning. 

VI. The Testimony : where you introduce proverbial sentence^ 




178 MISCELLANEOUS ESSAYS. [PART IV. 

or passages from good authors, which show that others think as 
you do. 

VII. The Conclusion : where you sum up the whole, and show 
the practical use of the subject by some pertinent observations. 

EXAMPLE. 

Virtue is its own Reward. 

I. Virtue consists in doing our duty to God and our neighbor, in oppo¬ 
sition to all temptations to the contrary. Such conduct is so consonant to 
the light of reason, and so agreeable to our moral sentiments, and produces 
so much peace of mind, that it may be said to carry its reward along with 
it, even if unattended by that recompense which it generally meets in the 
world. 

II. The reason of this seems to lie in the very nature of things. The 
all-wise and benevolent Author of nature has so framed the soul of man, 
that he can not but approve of virtue ; and has annexed to the practice of 
it an inward satisfaction, that mankind may be encouraged to become vir¬ 
tuous. 

III. If it were not so, if virtue were accompanied with no self-satisfac¬ 
tion, we should not only be discouraged from practicing it, but should be 
tempted to think that there was something very wrong in the laws and the 
administration of Providence. 

IV. But the reward of virtue is not always confined to this internal peace 
and happiness. As, in the works of nature and art, whatever is really 
beautiful is generally useful, so, in the moral world, whatever is truly vir¬ 
tuous is, at the same time, so beneficial to society, that it seldom goes with¬ 
out some external recompense. 

V. How has the approbation of all future ages rewarded the virtue of 
Scipio ! That young warrior had taken a beautiful captive, with whose 
charms he was greatly enamored ; but, finding that she was betrothed to a 
young nobleman of her own country, he. without hesitation, generously 
delivered her up to him. This one action of the noble Roman has, more 
than all his conquests, shed an imperishable lustre around his character. 

VI. Nor has the approbation of mankind been limited to the virtuous ac¬ 
tions of individuals. The loveliness of virtue generally has been the con¬ 
stant topic of all moralists, ancient and modern. Plato remarks, that if 
virtue were to assume a human form, it would command the admiration of 
the whole world. A late writer has said, “ In every region, every clime, 
the homage paid to virtue is the same. In no one sentiment were ever 
mankind more generally agreed.” 

VII. If, therefore, virtue is in itself so lovely—if it generally commands 
the approbation of mankind—if it is accompanied with inward peace and 
satisfaction—surely it may be said to be its own reward; for, though it 
must be acknowledged that it is frequently attended with crosses and mis 
fortunes in this life, and that there is something of self-denial in the very 
idea of it, yet, in the words of the poet, is 

“ The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears. 

Less pleasing far than virtue’s very’ tears w 

EXERCISES. 

1. Delays are dangerous. 

2. Evil communications corrupt good manners 

3. Well begun is half done. 

4. Perseverance generally prevails. 

5. Necessity is the mother of invention 


PART IV."] LIST OF SUBJECTS FOR ESSAYS. 


179 


6. Custom is second nature. 

7. Honesty is the best policy.* 

LIST OF SUBJECTS FOR ESSAYS. 

1. History and character of Abraham. 

2. History and character of Joseph. 

3. History and character of Moses, <fcc. 

4. Description of Athens. 

5. Description of London. 

6. Description of Paris, &c- 

7. Biography of Pompey. 

8. Biography of Columbus. 

9. Biography of Napoleon Bonaparte, &c. 

10. History of a hat. 

»1. History of a pin. 

12. History of a shilling, &c. 

13. Tour through Great Britain. 

14. Tour through France. 

15. Tour through Spain, &>c. 

16. Journal of a voyage round the world. 

17. Different forms of government. 

18. Different forms of religion. 

HINTS TO WRITERS FOR NEWSPAPERS. 

Writing for newspapers is now so universal an occupation, that it seem3 
important to furnish some specific hints to correspondents; and as no per¬ 
sons are more competent to furnish such as are appropriate than editors of 
newspapers, the following are selected from the New-York Tribune, Feb. 
10, 1815: 

“ Do oblige us by omitting all such flourishes as ‘ your interesting and 
valuable paper,’ * your able and patriotic course,’ &c. Our subscriber*; 
and the public know all about that sort of thing, and we also have a toler¬ 
able opinion of our own merits. If you think by this to improve your chan¬ 
ces of insertion, you mistake ruinously. 

“ When you have written what you have to say, run it over and see if 
there are not some sentences that could be spared without serious injury. 
If there are, out with them ! We are often compelled to decline good ar¬ 
ticles because we cannot make room for them. A half column has tea. 
chances where two columns have one and three columns none. 

“ Try to disparage as little as possible, and where you must condemn, let 
your facts be stronger than your words. 

“ When you assail any cause or person, always give us your real name, 
which we shall give up to ■whoever has a right to demand it. He is a sneak 
and a coward who could ask us to bear the responsibility of his attacks on 
others. 

“ Don’t write on both sides of a sheet. 

“ If you send us word that you ‘ have written in great haste, and have 
no time to correct,’ we shall put your manuscript quietly into the fire. Why 
should you throw on us the task of correcting your scrawl, when we are 
obliged to slight our own work daily for want of time? 

“ Give us facts, incidents, occurrences, at the earliest moment, and we 
shall be grateful, though you wrote with a pudding-stick; but if you at¬ 
tempt logic or sentiment, do it up right, instead of leaning on us.” 

* The exercises on these subjects may also be written in the form of fic¬ 
titious narratives. 

♦ - 


PART V. 

HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 


CHAPTER I. 

OF DIFFERENT LANGUAGES. 

Q. Is language much subject to change ? 

A. As much so as perhaps any thing connected with 
human affairs. 

Q. On what do these changes depend '( 

A. Partly upon the political changes occasioned by 
war and conquest, and partly upon the progress of 
knowledge and of civilization. 

Q. Does each language, then, stand separate and distinct from 
every other ? 

A. Far from it; for many of them, being closely 
allied to each other, require them to be viewed in the 
light of families or kindred. 

Q. What produces this close connection or alliance ? 

A. The circumstance of their being either sprung 
from a common origin, or subjected to the operation 
of similar political changes. 

Q. How would you illustrate this ? 

A. By a reference to the languages of France, 
Spain, and Italy, among which there is an intimate 
connection, as having all sprung from the Latin. 

Q. How come they to be descended from the Latin ? 

A. Because the Romans, who spoke the Latin lan¬ 
guage, having long had full and entire possession of 
-hese countries, had succeeded in establishing in them 
their own language.* 

* Through the influence of the Romish priesthood, the language of an¬ 
cient Rome -was preserved in some degree of purity. As D’Israeli re¬ 
marks, “ The primitive fathers, the later schoolmen, the monkish chron¬ 
iclers, all alike composed in Latin : all legal instruments, even marriage 
contracts, were drawn in Latin : and even the language of Christian prayer 
was that of abolished paganism.” 

In the rage for the classical literature of Greece and Rome in the fif 
teenth century, the vernacular tongues of Europe were neglected bv 
scholars. The ancients were copied and imitated—original genius Vae 
cramped. 



PART V.] PRIMITIVE LANGUAGES OF EUROPE* 181 

Q. And how came this language to be changed ? 

A. By these countries having, in the course of time, 
been overrun by rude and barbarous nations from the 
North of Europe ; and thus their languages gradually 
lost their pure Latin character in consequence of be¬ 
ing blended with those of the invaders, though they 
retained so much of their primitive distinction as to 
mark their Latin origin. 

Q. Into how many classes, therefore, may languages be divided ? 

A. Two ; such as are primitive and original, and 
such as are borrowed or derived from some other. 

Q. But if all languages, as we have reason to believe, have de 
scended from one origin, must there not be only one primitive 
language ? 

A. Strictly speaking, there must; but as we are ig¬ 
norant of what that original language was, we are 
accustomed to consider every language as original 
which does not seem to have any close affinity with 
any other with which we are acquainted. 


CHAPTER II. 

OF THE PRIMITIVE LANGUAGES OF EUROPE. 

Q. From how many primitives are the languages of Europe 
supposed to be derived ? 

A. Chiefly from four: the Greek, the Gothic or 
Teutonic, the Celtic, and the Sclavonic. 

Q. Do any of these, as spoken languages, still retain their orig¬ 
inal form ? 


Dante and Boccacio, in the fourteenth century, are regarded as the pa¬ 
rents of Italian literature, being the first -who wrote in that language any 
work of taste. Still great effort was made by many to discourage Italian 
literature, in favor of the Latin tongue. 

Some French, and Portuguese, and British scholars soon attempted to 
give shape, and beauty, and reputation to their own vernacular tongues. 

It was not until the event of the Reformation under Luther that the prej¬ 
udice of writing in Latin was first checked in Germany, France, and Eng¬ 
land. That event awakened benevolence toward the common people, and 
the production of works in the native tongue, that the people might read 
them. The versions of the Scriptures into them served more than any 
other circumstance to give foundation and beauty to the various languages 
of. modern Europe. The people, as such, thus became interested in the 
study and improvement of their own languages. Various writers, among 
others Lord Bacon, composed some works in Latin, and others in the ver¬ 
nacular. 




182 ENGLISH LANGUAGE. [PART V. 

A The Celtic and the Sclavonic do so to a very 
great degree, but the others have become greatly 
changed. 

Q. And where does the Sclavonic continue to be a spoken lan¬ 
guage? 

A. Chiefly in Hungary, Poland, Bohemia, and Rus¬ 
sia. 

Q. In what places does the Celtic still prevail ? 

A. In Wales, the Highlands of Scotland, Brittany 
m France, and some districts of Ireland. 

Q. What are the principal languages derived from the Greek ? 

A. The modern Greek, spoken ill Greece, and some 
of the islands of the Archipelago, as well as the dif¬ 
ferent languages of which Latin is the basis, this lat¬ 
ter tongue being itself a derivative from the Greek. 

Q. And what are these languages? 

A. Most of those spoken in the South of Europe, 
including the French, the Italian, the Spanish, and the 
Portuguese. 

Q. What are the languages founded chiefly on the Gothic or 
Teutonic ? 

A. The German, the Dutch, the Danish, the Swe¬ 
dish, and the English. 

Q. Do the languages of different countries always retain their 
distinctive characters ? 

A. They do so to a certain extent, though those of 
adjoining tribes and nations always run less or more 
into each other. 


CHAPTER IIx. 

OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 

Q. What renders English a language of so much importance ? 

A. The circumstances of its being spoken by so 
great a multitude of the human race at the present 
day; of its being so copious, simple, and expressive ; 
and of its containing so rich, so varied, and so refined 
a literature. 

Q. Has it always possessed these characteristics ? 

A. Far from it; for, till within three hundred years 
or so, it was rude and irregular in its structure, 




/ 


PART V.] ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 183 

meager in its vocabulary and power of expression, 
and destitute of every thing deserving the name of a 
literature. 

Q. What tended to keep it so long in this state ? 

A. Partly the ignorance and barbarity of the people, 
and partly the practice which so long prevailed among 
the learned, of writing almost every thing in Latin. 

Q. What prompted the learned for so long a period to compose 
chiefly in Latin ? 

A. That they might, by enlarging the circle of their 
readers, enjoy a more extended popularity. 

Q. How did writing in a dead language increase the number of 
their readers ? 

A. Because Latin at that time was the language 
which the learned all cultivated and understood, while 
the illiterate were generally so ignorant as to be una¬ 
ble even to read or write their own tongue. 

Q. Was there no other cause that tended to perpetuate the use 
of Latin as a written language ? 

A. Yes; there was the circumstance of so much of 
the service of the Catholic Church being performed 
in Latin; and besides, the British schools and univer¬ 
sities being founded almost exclusively for the educa¬ 
tion of churchmen, the Roman tongue was honored 
in these seats of learning by being made nearly the 
sole instrument of communicating thought. 

Q. Who were the first improvers of the English language ? 

A. Those chiefly who wrote for the common peo¬ 
ple ; and of these the poets took the lead. 

Q. Supposing Latin to have been less cultivated, would the 
progress of the English language have been slow on any other 
account ? 

A. Yes ; for, besides the unsettled state of the coun¬ 
try, the dearth of books would have precluded every 
thing like learning among the great bulk of the people, 
and a language can not improve rapidly till extensively 
used in literary compositions. 

Q. How does this happen ? 

A. Because, till such time as writers find numerous 
readers, they can not be expected to bestow much 
pains upon their compositions. 


184 OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, ETC. [PARI V 


CHAPTER IV. 

OF THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, ETC. 

Q. From whom have we the earliest accounts,of Britain ? 

A. From the Romans ; and more especially from the 
famous general and elegant writer, Julius Caesar. 

Q. What language was then spoken in the country ? 

A. That known by the name Celtic, and the same 
as prevailed at one time in France, Spain, and Portu¬ 
gal. 

Q. What proof have we of the Celtic having been then the 
common language of the country ? 

A. The names of a vast number of its mountains, 
rivers, and lakes, and of other objects of a permanent 
character, are Celtic in their origin, a thing which 
never could have happened, had that language not 
been early and long the common speech of the coun¬ 
try. 

Q. Why are the names of towns not also of the same origin ? 

A. Becahse towns being fluctuating in their nature, 
many of those of ancient date are now extinct, and 
many of those still existing have been of a date long 
subsequent to the pure Celtic period. 

Q. What effect is the Roman conquest supposed to have had 
upon this language ? 

A. By introducing the use of Latin among the upper 
classes, it caused the Celtic to become the language 
of the lower orders merely. 

Q. Did the two languages not blend into one ? 

A. No ; for those who had adopted the Latin gener¬ 
ally abandoned their native tongue ; and the Romans 
never came to settle in such numbers as to produce 
any material change upon the original language of the 
country. 

Q. To what purposes was the Celtic language applied, besides 
the common intercourse of life ? 

A. To those chiefly of eloquence and poetry. 

Q. What instances have we of Celtic eloquence ? 

A. The warlike harangues delivered to their follow¬ 
ers by Caractacus, Galgacus, and Boadicea. 

Q. Who were their principal poets ? 

A. Those among the Druids denominated bards, 


PART V.J EFFECTS OF THE SAXON CONQUEST. 185 

whose office it was to celebrate the praises of their 
gods and heroes. 

Q. What branches of knowledge did the Druids chiefly culti¬ 
vate ? 

A. Besides the learning peculiar to their sacerdotal 
office, they cultivated principally medicine, astronomy, 
and law. 

Q. Were they acquainted with the art of writing? 

A. Caesar says they were, but that they never prac¬ 
ticed it, except for the purpose of concealing, rather 
than of promulgating the knowledge which they pos¬ 
sessed. 

Q. What were some of the principal changes introduced by the 
Roman conquest ? 

A. The art of writing, of agriculture, and of archi¬ 
tecture ; and while it abolished Druidism, it substituted 
Christianity in its room. 


CHAPTER V. 

OF THE EFFECTS OF THE SAXON CONQUEST. 

Q. Did the arts and improvements introduced by the Romans 
continue long to flourish 1 

A. No; they had not been long established when 
they were not merely checked, but entirely obliter¬ 
ated. 

Q. By what event did this take place ? 

A. By that great revolution, called the Saxon con¬ 
quest. 

Q. What change did this produce upon the language ? 

A. The people having been exterminated by their 
invaders, rather than subdued, except among the fast¬ 
nesses of Wales and the Highlands, every trace of 
the Celtic language became obliterated in all the 
other parts of the island, and the Saxon introduced in 
its stead. 

Q. What was the character of the Saxons for learning ? 

A. Being a rude and savage race, whose sole occu¬ 
pation was war, in religion they were heathens, and 
in learning so deficient as not even to be acquainted 
with the use of letters. 

Q 2 



186 EFFECTS OF THE SAXON CONOUEST. [PART V. 

Q. Did they long continue in tins state 7 

A. No ; for, having completely subjugated the coun¬ 
try, they gradually settled down to a more regular 
course of life; and the reintroduction of Christianity 
gave a new impulse to learning by making the people 
acquainted with the art of writing. 

Q. In what language did the learned men continue for a time 
to write 7 

A. In the Latin; and one or two of the most dis¬ 
tinguished of the Saxon Latin writers are Gildas, a 
native of Alcluyd, now Dumbarton; Aldhelm, abbot 
of Malmesbury; and the Venerable Bede, a native, 
and afterward a monk, of the Abbey of Wearmouth 
in the county of Durham. 

Q. What characters did the Saxons use in writing their own 
tongue ? 

A. With the exception of a character to denote th y 
and another to denote w, their letters were the same 
as the Roman. 

Q. Who were among the earliest writers in the Saxon lan¬ 
guage ? 

A. Two individuals called, for distinction, the one 
the elder , the other the second Caedmon, who were the 
authors of religious poetry. 

Q. Of what did the Saxon literature chiefly consist ? 

A. Principally of poems, histories or chronicles, re¬ 
ligious treatises, and translations from the Scriptures 
and from Latin authors, with some few tales or fic¬ 
tions. 

Q. Who is one of its brightest ornaments ? 

A . The celebrated King Alfred, who is regarded not 
only as one of the wisest of monarchs, but as one of 
the most learned men of his day, and an ardent pro¬ 
moter both of religion and learning among his subjects. 

Q. Did the Saxon language and literature regularly improve 
after Alfred’s time ? 

A. Quite the reverse ; for, first by their incursions, 
and then by the invasion and ultimate conquest of the 
country by the Danes, society was thrown into the ut¬ 
most confusion, and all improvement in language, in 
literature, and the arts of life, was completely checked. 

Q. Did the Danish conquest produce much change upon the 
character of the language l 


PART V.] EFFECTS OF THE DANISH CONCIUEST. 187 

A . Much less than might have been expected, for 
the Danish, like the Saxon tongue, being of Gothic 
origin, was only a different dialect of the same lan¬ 
guage, and, with the exception of checking its im¬ 
provement, had little effect in altering the speech of 
the country. 


CHAPTER VI. 

OF THE EFFECTS OF THE DANISH CONQUEST. 

Q. What was the first event that produced much effect upon 
the Saxon language ? 

A. The great intercourse which began to take place 
between Britain and Normandy, in part directly, but 
still more indirectly, was the first thing that tended 
to affect the language to any great degree. 

Q. To what was this intercourse chiefly owing ? 

A. To the circumstance of so many of the Saxon 
princes and nobility having taken refuge in that coun¬ 
try during the period of Danish sway in Britain. 

Q. What individual in particular showed great partiality for 
every thing Norman? 

A. Edward the Confessor, who, being descended 
from Ethelred the Second, a Saxon refugee, had been 
brought up at the court of Normandy, and therefore 
took every opportunity of testifying his attachment to 
his benefactors. 

Q What effect had his example upon the rest of the country ? 

A. It caused the nobility, and those possessed of 
wealth, to send their sons into Normandy to be edu¬ 
cated, which in time produced, in the higher classes, 
a strong partiality to the Norman, and a sad disregard 
to their own language. 

Q. What sort of language was the Norman ? 

A. A language which had arisen from the admixture 
of the Latin as spoken in France, and of that dialect 
of the Gothic which was spoken by the Northmen and 
other warlike tribes, who had overrun and conquered 
that fine country. 

Q. In what respects did the new language resemble or differ 
from those from which it had sprung ? 



188 EFFECTS OF THE NORMAN CONClUEST. [PART V. 

A. It retained a greater resemblance to the Latin in 
the words of which it was composed; but seemed 
more akin to the Gothic or Teutonic in its general 
structure, and in the arrangement of its words into 
sentences. 

Q. What motive had the English nobility to prefer the Norman 
language to the Saxon ? 

A. Probably the vanity, in part, of being thus far¬ 
ther distinguished from the common people ; though 
the consideration of the Norman being regarded as a 
more refined and cultivated language, must have had 
no slight influence. 

Q. What was the indirect consequence to the language of this 
great intercourse with Normandy ? 

A. It paved the way for the Norman conquest, an 
event which happened in the year 1066 , and which ul¬ 
timately produced a complete revolution in the lan¬ 
guage, the literature, and the institutions of the coun¬ 
try. 


CHAPTER VII. 

OF THE EFFECTS OF THE NORMAN CONQUEST. 

ij. To what barbarous policy had the Norman conquerors re 
course, the better to strengthen their usurped power ? 

A. To the dire expediency of endeavoring to extir¬ 
pate the very language of the people, in order that, by 
making them forget their Saxon lineage, they might 
more reconcile them to the Norman yoke. 

Q. What measures were taken the better to effect this purpose ? 

A. All offices of honor, of trust, and of emolument, 
were filled by the foreigners, and the Norman tongue 
was enjoined as the language to be used at court, in 
the enactment of laws, and in all legal proceedings. 

Q. Whom did the Normans easily get to obey these harsh 
edicts ? 

A. The nobility or higher classes, who had not been 
ejected from their estates, though of this description 
of persons the number was very small; and the Nor¬ 
mans, who became masters of the country, had no 
motive to abandon their original speech. 



PART V.J OF THE NORMAN CONCtUEST. 189 


[As an evidence that the English language was wholly foreign to the 
English court, D’Israeli relates a ludicrous anecdote of the chancellor of 
Richard the First. This chancellor, in his flight from Canterbury, dis¬ 
guised as a female hawker, carrying under his arm a bundle of cloth, and 
an ell measure in his hand, sat by the sea-side waiting for a vessel. The 
fishermen’s wives inquiring the'price of the cloth, he could only answer by 
a burst of laughter; for this man, born in England and chancellor of Eng¬ 
land, did not know a single word of English !] 

Q. How many languages, then, were for a time spoken in the 
country ? 

A. Two: the Norman, among- all who aimed at be¬ 
ing genteel, and the Saxon, by all the common peo¬ 
ple ; while the Latin still continued to be the language 
of the learned, and of the Church service. 

Q. What was ultimately the result of this distinction ? 

A. For a time, these two languages kept perfectly 
distinct, but at last they began to coalesce, and then 
sprung up that noble tongue which we now call Eng¬ 
lish. 

Q. At what time did this result begin to take place ? 

A. The precise period can not now be ascertained; 
but it is likely to have been early; for, as the common 
people could not speak the Norman, nor the higher 
classes the Saxon, they would soon see the propriety 
of compromising the matter, by each party, for the 
sake of being understood, adopting more or less of the 
language of the other. 

Q. Which language ultimately prevailed over the other ? 

A. They were probably nearly on a par as to the 
number of words adopted from each; but the Saxon 
retained the decided ascendency as to the termina- 
tional distinctions and the grammatical construction 
of the words into sentences. 

Q. What are the kinds of words in our language that are chief¬ 
ly of Saxon origin ? 

A . Most of those that are short, and are used to 
express common objects and common events. 

Q. What was the nature of those words derived from the Nor¬ 
man French ? 

A. They were chiefly those of a Latin origin, and 
which, being generally words of more syllables than 
one, are used to express less common objects and oc¬ 
currences. 

Q. With what two languages has this union chiefly allied the 
English? 


190 MODERN HIPTCRY OF JT T R I ANQUAGE. [PART V. 

A. With the original Saxon, and with the Latin 
through the medium of the Norman French. 

Q. What paculiai characters does it receive from each? 

A. From the former strength and vivacity, with 
sometimes considerable harshness of sound; from the 
.atter smoothness, harmony, and greater pomp and 
iignity. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

OF THE MODERN HISTORY OF OUR LANGUAGE. 

Q. What length of time did the Saxon and Norman French 
take to fuse and form themselves into the new language ? 

A. A period of nearly three hundred years ; for, 
though the process was early begun, it required this 
long time to bring it to completion; so slow is the 
progress of human affairs in rude periods of society. 

Q. Were there many writers during this period ? 

A A considerable number, though none of any very 
nigh reputation. 

Q. Of what kind were they chiefly ? 

A. They consisted principally of the learned, who 
composed mostly in Latin, and upon religious and 
philosophical subjects; and of chroniclers and poets 
called minstrels, who wrote chiefly in the popular 
language of the country. 

Q. Do the latter exhibit much uniformity of style ? 

A . Far from it; for the character of their composi¬ 
tions seems to vary not only according to the time, 
but even to the part of the country in which they lived 
and wrote. 

Q. In whose reign might the change of language be said to 
have been completed ? 

A. In the reign of Edward the Third, which began 
in 132fi, and ended in 1377. 

Q In what manner did he accelerate this event ? 

A. By making English the language of his court, 
and by discontinuing the Norman in all law proceed¬ 
ings. 

Q. Who may be regarded as the earliest writer of genuine 
English poetry ? 



PART V.] MODERN HISTORY OF OUR LANGUAGE. 191 

A. Geoffrey Chaucer, who was born in 1328, and 
died in 1400, leaving behind him many monuments of 
his noble genius, the principal of which are the Can¬ 
terbury Tales. 

Q. Who were the principal prose writers of that period ? 

A. Sir John Mandeville, a distinguished traveler, 
and John Wicliffe, who is often regarded as the father 
of the Reformation. 

Q. After the great celebrity of Chaucer, did English writers suc¬ 
ceed each other in rapid succession ? 

A. Very much so indeed ; though none gained such 
high reputation as Chaucer, prior to the period of 
Elizabeth. 

Q. What were the principal changes which took place in the 
language during the 150 years from Chaucer’s time ? 

A It became for one thing more regular in its 
orthography, many of the old words were suffered to 
drop out of use, and new ones, chiefly from the Latin, 
were introduced ; and altogether the language became 
more elegant, copious, and refined. 

Q. What class of writers took the lead in this improvement T 

A. The poets chiefly, and of these Scotland can 
boast of more than her due proportion. 

Q. What event tended to secure past and promote future im¬ 
provements in the language ? 

A. The art of printing, which was invented in Hol¬ 
land early in the fifteenth century, and introduced into 
England by William Caxton, in the year 1474. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

Q. In whose reign did the English language and literatuie 
make greatest progress ? 

A. In that of Elizabeth, and of her successor, 
James. 

Q. What characters did the language then assume? 

A. Those of great copiousness, flexibility, vigor, 
and grandeur; and it acquired farther the character 
of a more regular orthography. 

Q. To what had diversity of spelling been previously owing ? 



192 MODERN HISTORY OF OUR LANGUAGE. [PART V, 

A. To the circumstance of there having been pre¬ 
viously no fixed standard, every one spelling his 
words according as his own ear or fancy dictated. 

Q. Who were some of the principal ornaments of English lit¬ 
erature during these reigns ? 

A. Sidney, Spenser, .Essex, and Raleigh; but es¬ 
pecially Bacon, Shakspeare, and Hooker. 

Q. What did the language still require to make it almost per¬ 
fect as an instrument of thought ? 

A. Nothing but a little additional polish and refine¬ 
ment ; a slight, infusion of taste and elegance ; a lop¬ 
ping off of redundancies and extravagances; and a 
greater closeness and condensation of thought. 

Q. W r ho were among the next great improvers of our language ? 

A. Milton, Dryden, Butler, Clarendon, Burnet, Til- 
lotson, Hobbes, and Locke, with many others too nu¬ 
merous to mention. 

Q. In what were many of the writers of the times of Charles 
the Second and William and Mary chiefly defective ? 

A. In correctness of taste, often substituting quaint¬ 
ness for originality, and mistaking affectation for wit. 

Q. During what reigns did our language receive its highest 
- polish ? 

A. During those of Queen Anne, raid of the Georges, 
and of their successors. 

Q. Who have been mainly instrumental in this improvement ? 

A. Addison, Steele, Pope, Swift, Hawksworth, 
Chesterfield, Goldsmith, Johnson, Gibbon, Hume, 
Robertson, Blair, Beattie, together with all our dis¬ 
tinguished writers, whether of prose or poetry, who 
have adorned our literature during the important pe 
riod of the last half century. 

Q. What may be said to be the present character of our lan 
guage? 

A. It is copious, elegant, and energetic, well fitted 
for every species of subject, abounding in all the rich¬ 
est stores of literature, whether designed for improve¬ 
ment or pleasure, and adorned alike with the treasures 
of religion, science, and philosophy, the effusions of 
fancy, the records of history, the sublime inventions 
of imagination, and the majestic movements of the no¬ 
blest oratory. 


193 


PART V.] PERIODICAL LITERATURE 
CHAPTER X. 

OF PERIODICAL LITERATURE. 

Q. What do you understand by Periodical Literature ? 

A. Works published in detached portions, and at 
stated times ; and devoted chiefly, if not exclusively, 
to literary or scientific subjects. 

Q. Do not newspapers belong to this department of literature ? 

A. Strictly speaking they do ; though, from the cir¬ 
cumstance of their being devoted almost entirely to 
political topics, and a detail of the remarkable occur¬ 
rences that take place in the world, they are gener¬ 
ally ranked as a distinct class by themselves, often 
styled the newspaper press. The first newspaper pub¬ 
lished in America was in 1604, called the News-letter. 

Q. Is periodical literature of high antiquity ? 

A. No; it is of comparatively recent origin, having 
never been apparently thought of by the ancients. 

Q. How can this oversight be accounted for ? 

A. By the want of that important instrument, the 
printing-press ; for, had all works still to be written out 
by the hand, this species of literature, if known at all, 
must have been extremely limited. 

Q. Where and when did periodical literature take its rise ? 

A. In France, in the year 1665, when the first work 
of the kind not properly political, was begun by one 
Dennis de Sallo, under the denomination of the Jour¬ 
nal des Sgavans. 

Q. From what time may we date its origin in England ? 

A. From February, 1704, when the celebrated Dan¬ 
iel De Foe commenced his work called the Review. 

Q. Did the Review continue long solitary ? 

A. No ; for it was speedily followed by the Tatler, 
the Spectator, and the Guardian, which, though rank¬ 
ed with the British Essayists, were nevertheless peri¬ 
odicals. 

Q. Has periodical literature extended much since that time ? 

A. It is now, perhaps, the most extensive of all our 
departments of literature, and seems to command the 
attention of readers of all classes. 

Q. At what intervals, and under what titles, do periodicals now 
generally appear ? 

A. Some are published weekly, some monthly, oth- 


194 THE COMPONENT PARTS OF THE [PART 

ers quarterly, and not a few yearly; and under the 
various denominations of Journals, Magazines, Miscel¬ 
lanies, Reviews, and Annuals. 

Q. In what does the principal attraction of this kind of litera¬ 
ture consist ? 

A. In its containing a great variety of light, elegant, 
and amusing reading, with a good deal of general in¬ 
formation, though commonly of a rather superficial 
character. 

Q. What is supposed to be the effect of so much periodical lit 
erature upon the public mind 1 

A. While it induces some to read, who, probably, 
otherwise would not, it is supposed to withdraw the 
attention of not a few from the perusal of more regu¬ 
lar and important works, and, by giving a mere smat¬ 
tering of many things rather than a thorough acquaint¬ 
ance with any one, to make our knowledge more su¬ 
perficial than solid, and more showy than useful. 


CHAPTER XI. 

THE COMPONENT PARTS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 

[From the Edinburgh Review, 1839.] 

The English language consists of about thirty eight thou¬ 
sand words. This includes, of course, not only radical 
words, but all derivatives, except the preterits and partici¬ 
ples of verbs; to which must be added some few terms, 
which, though set down in the dictionaries, are either obso¬ 
lete, or have never ceased to be considered foreign. Of 
these, about twenty-three thousand, or nearly five eighths, 
are of Anglo-Saxon origin. The majority of the rest, in 
what proportion we can not say, are Latin and Greek; Lat¬ 
in, however, has the largest share. The names of the great¬ 
er part of the objects of sense, in other words, the terms 
which occur most frequently in discourse, or which recall 
the most vivid conceptions, are Anglo-Saxon. Thus, for 
example, the names of the most striking objects in visible 
nature, of the chief agencies at work there, of the changes 
we pass over it, are Anglo-Saxon. 

This language has given names to the heavenly bodies, 
the sun, the moon, and stars; to three out of the four ele- 



PART V.] ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 195 

ments, earth, fire, and water; three out of the four seasons, 
spring, summer, and winter; and, indeed, to all the natural 
divisions of time except? one; as day, night, morning, even¬ 
ing, twilight, noon, midday, midnight, sunrise, sunset, some 
of which are among the most poetical terms we have. To 
the same language we are indebted for the names of light, 
heat, cold, frost, rain, snow, hail, sleet, thunder, lightning, 
as well as almost all those objects which form the compo¬ 
nent parts of the beautiful in external scenery, as sea and 
land, hill and dale, wood and stream, &c. It is from this 
language we derive the words which are expressive of the 
earliest and dearest connections, and the strongest and 
most powerful feelings of nature, and which are, consequent¬ 
ly, invested with our oldest and most complicated associa¬ 
tions. 

It is this language which has given us names for father, 
mother, husband, wife, brother, sister, son, daughter, child, 
home, kindred, friends. It is this which has furnished us 
with the greater part of those metonymies and other figura¬ 
tive expressions, by which we represent to the imagination, 
and that in a single word, the reciprocal duties and enjoy¬ 
ments of hospitality, friendship, or love ; such are hearth, 
roof, fireside. The chief emotions, too, of which we are 
susceptible, are expressed in the same language, as love, 
hope, fear, sorrow, shame; and what is of more conse¬ 
quence to the orator and the poet, as well as in comjnon 
life, the outward signs by which emotion is indicated, are 
almost all Anglo-Saxon; such are tear, smile, blush, to 
laugh, to vy r eep, to sigh, to groan. Most of those objects 
about which the practical reason of man is employed in 
common life, receive their names from the Anglo-Saxon. 
It is the language, for the most part, of business; of the 
counting-house, the shop, the market, the street, the farm; 
and, however miserable the man who is fond of philosophy 
or abstract science might be, if he had no other vocabulary 
but this, we must recollect that language was made not for 
the few, but the many, and- that portion of it which enables 
the bulk of'a nation to express their wants and transact 
their affairs, must be considered of at least as much import¬ 
ance to general happiness as that which serves the purpose 
of philosophical science. 

Nearly all our national proverbs, in which it is truly said 
so much of the practical wisdom of a nation resides, and 
which constitute the manual and vade mecum of “ hobnailed” 
philosophy are almost wholly Anglo-Saxon. A very large 


196 


THE COMPONENT PARTS, ETC. [PART V. 

proportion (and that always the strongest) of the language 
of invective, humor, satire, colloquial pleasantry, is Anglo- 
Saxon. 

Almost all the terms and phrases by which we most en¬ 
ergetically express anger, contempt, and indignation, are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin. The Latin contributes most largely to 
the language of polite life, as well as to that of polite litera¬ 
ture. Again, it is often necessary to convey ideas, which, 
though not truly and properly offensive in themselves, would, 
if clothed in the rough Saxon, appear so to the sensitive 
modesty of a highly-refined state of society; dressed in Lat¬ 
in, these very same ideas shall seem decent enough. There 
is a large number of words, which, from the frequency with 
which they are used, and from their being so constantly in 
the mouths of the vulgar, would not be endured in polished 
society, though more privileged synonymes of Latin origin, 
or some classical circumlocution expressing exactly the 
same thing, shall pass unquestioned. 

There may be nothing dishonest, nothing really vulgar 
about the old Saxon word, yet it would be thought as un¬ 
couth in a drawing-room as the ploughman to whose rude 
use it is abandoned. Thus the word “ stench ” is lavendered 
over into unpleasant effluvia, or an ill odor; “ sweat,” diluted 
into four times the number of syllables, becomes a very inof¬ 
fensive thing in the shape of “ perspiration.” To “ squint” 
is softened into obliquity of vision ; to be “ drunk” is vulgar, 
but if a man be simply intoxicated or inebriated, it is com¬ 
paratively venial. Indeed, we may say of the classical 
names of vices, what Burke more questionably said of vices 
themselves, “ that they lose half their deformity by losing 
all their grossness.” In the same manner, we all know that 
it is very possible for a medical man to put to us questions, 
under the seemly disguise of scientific phraseology and po¬ 
lite circumlocution, which, if expressed in the bare and rude 
vernacular, would almost be as nauseous as his draughts 
and pills. Lastly, there are many thoughts which gain im¬ 
mensely by mere novelty and variety of expression. This 
the judicious poet, who knows that the connection between 
thoughts and words is as intimate as that between body and 
spirit, well understands. There are thoughts, in themselves 
trite and commonplace when expressed in the hackneyed 
terms of common life, which, if adorned by some graceful 
or felicitous novelty of expression, shall assume an unwont¬ 
ed air of dignity and elegance. What was trivial, becomes 
striking; a what was plebeian, noble. 


PART VI. 

MODERN BRITISH LITERATURE. 
[Abridgedfrom Montgomery's Lectures.'] 


CHAPTER I. 

ENGLISH LITERATURE UNDER THE TUDORS AND THE FIRST 
STUARTS. 

From the reign of Elizabeth to the protectorate of 
Cromwell, inclusively, there rose in phalanx, and con¬ 
tinued in succession, minds of all orders and hands 
for all work, in poetry, philosophy, history, and the¬ 
ology, which have bequeathed to us such treasures of 
what may be called genuine English Literature, that 
whatever may be the changes of taste, the revolutions 
of style, and the fashions in popular reading, these 
will be the sterling standards. 

The standard of our tongue having been fixed at an 
era when it was rich in native idioms, full of pristine 
vigor, and pliable almost as sound articulate can be to 
sense—and that standard having been fixed in poetry, 
the most permanent and perfect of all forms of litera¬ 
ture, as well as in the version of the Scriptures, which 
are necessarily the most popular species of reading— 
no very considerable changes can be effected. 

Contemporary with Milton , though his junior, and 
belonging to a subsequent era of literature, of which 
he became the great luminary and master-spirit, was 
Dry den. His prose (not less admirable than his verse), 
in its structure and cadence, in compass of expres¬ 
sion, and general freedom from cumbersome pomp, 
pedantic restraint, and vicious quaintness, which more 
or less characterized his predecessors, became the 
favorite model in that species of composition, which 
was happily followed and highly improved by Addison , 
Johnson , and other periodical writers of the last cen¬ 
tury. These, to whom must be added the triumvirate 
of British historians, Hume , Robertsm, and Gibbon , who 
R 2 



198 BRITISH LITERATURE. [PART VI. 

exemplified, in their very dissimilar styles, the triple 
contrast and harmony of simplicity, elegance, and 
splendor — these illustrious names in prose are so 
many pledges that the language in' which they im¬ 
mortalized their thoughts is itself immortalized by 
being made the vehicle of these, and can never be¬ 
come barbarian like Chaucer’s uncouth, rugged, in¬ 
congruous medley of sounds, which are as remote 
from the strength, volubility, and precision of those 
employed by his polished successors, as the imperfect 
lispings of infancy before it has learned to pronounce 
half the alphabet, and imitates the letters which it 
cannot pronounce with those which it can, are to the 
clear, and round, and eloquent intonations of youth, 
when the voice and the ear are perfectly formed and 
attuned to each other.—(For a more full account of 
Dr. Johnson, we may refer you to chap, vii., sec. v.) 


. CHAPTER II. 

FROM THE RESTORATION TO THE REIGN OF GEORGE THE 
THIRD. 

From the Restoration, in 1660, to the time when 
Cowper had risen into full fame in 1790, may be dated 
the second grand era of modern English Literature, 
reckoning from Elizabeth to the close of Cromwell’s 
protectorate, already mentioned, as the first. 

The early part of this period (the reigns of Charles 
II. and James II.) was distinguished for works of wit 
and profligacy; the drama, in particular, was pre-emi. 
nent for the genius that adorned and the abomina- 
tions that disgraced its scenes. The middle portion 
of the same period, from the Revolution of 1688 to 
the close of the reign of George II., was rather the 
age of reason than of passion, of fine fancy than of 
adventurous imagination in the belles lettres gener¬ 
ally. Pope, as the follower of Dryden in verse, ex¬ 
celled him as much in grace and harmony of num¬ 
bers as he might be deemed j fall below him in r&cb 



PART VI.] BRITISH LITERATURE. 199 

ness and pithy originality. It is to be remarked, also, 
that, while Pope gave the tone, character, and fashion 
to the verse of his day, as decidedly as Addison had 
given to the prose, yet, of all his imitators, not one 
has maintained the rank of even a second-rate author; 
the greatest names among his contemporaries, Thom¬ 
son and Young, being those who differed most from 
him in manner, subject, and taste, especially in those of 
their works which promise to last as long as his own. 

Between Pope and Cowper, we have the names of 
Collins , Gray, Goldsmith, and Churchill. Of these, the 
two former have nothing in common with Pope ; but 
they produced too little, and w r ere too great manner¬ 
ists themselves to be the fathers, in either line, of a 
school of mannerists ; it is only when mannerism is 
connected with genius of the proudest order or the 
most prolific species that it becomes extensively in¬ 
fectious among minor minds. As for Goldsmith and 
Churchill, whatever they appear to have owed to 
Pope, they are remembered and admired for what 
they possessed independent of him. 

Nothing in the English language can be more per¬ 
fect than the terseness, elegance, and condensation of 
Pope’s sentiments, diction, and rhyme. 


CHAPTER III. 

ENGLISH LITERATURE OF THE PRESENT AGE. 

With the exceptions already named, there was not 
a poet between Pope and Cowper who had power to 
command popular applause in any enviable degree. 

Cowper’s first volume, partly from the grave char¬ 
acter of the longer pieces, and the purposely rugged, 
rambling, slip-shod versification, was long neglected, 
till The Task, the noblest effort of his muse, com¬ 
posed under the inspiration of cheerfulness, hope 1 , and 
love, unbosoming the whole soul of his affections, 
intelligence, and piety, at once made our countrymen 
feel that neither the genius of poesy had fled from 



200 BRITISH LITERATURE. [PART VI. 

Britain, nor had the heart of it died in the breasts of 
its inhabitants. The Task was the first long poem, 
from the close of Churchill’s brilliant, but evanescent 
career, that awoke wonder, sympathy, and delight by 
its own ineffable excellence among the reading people 
of England. 

From Cowper may be deduced the commencement 
of the third great era of modern English literature, 
since it was in no small measure to the inspiration of 
his Task that England is indebted, if not for the exist¬ 
ence, yet certainly for the character of the new school 
of poetry, established first at Bristol, and afterward 
transferred to the Lakes, as scenery more congenial 
and undisturbed for the exercise of contemplative ge¬ 
nius. Southey , Coleridge , and Wordsworth started al¬ 
most contemporaneously in the same path to fame. 
These authors hazarded a new style, in which sim¬ 
plicity, homeliness, common names, every-day objects, 
and ordinary events were made the themes and the 
ornaments of poetry. They set forth rural sights and 
lightST-the loves and graces of domestic life—the 
comforts of our own fireside—the flowery array of 
meadows—the sparkling vivacity of rivulets, kind in¬ 
tercourse with neighbors, the generous ardor of pa¬ 
triotism, and the gentler emotions of benevolence. 
But these subjects were, ere long, exhausted, and they 
gave place to higher, more heroic, and magnificent 
scenes. Southey, by his marvelous excursions in 
the regions both of history and of romance—Cole¬ 
ridge, by his wild fictions of a class entirely his own, 
in which there is an indescribable witchery of phrase 
and conceit that affects the imagination as if tme had 
eaten of “ the insane root that takes the reason pris¬ 
oner and Wordsworth, by his mysticism, his Pla¬ 
tonic love of the supreme good and the supreme beau¬ 
ty, which he seeks every where, and finds wherever 
he seeks, in the dancing of daffodils, the splendor of 
the setting sun, the note of a cuckoo flitting like a 
spirit from hill to hill, which neither the eye nor ear 
can follow, and in the everlasting silence of the uni¬ 
verse to the man bom deaf and dumb—these were 


PART VI. J BRITISH LITERATURE. 201 

the three pioneers, if not the absolute founders of the 
existing style of English literature; which has be¬ 
come so diversified, artificial, and exquisite; so gor¬ 
geously embellished and adapted to every taste, as 
well as so abundant in its resources by importations 
from the wealth of every other land, that it may chal¬ 
lenge similitude to the grand metropolis of the em¬ 
pire, where the brain of a stranger is bewildered amid 
the infinite forms of human beings, human dwellings, 
human pursuits, human enjoyments, and human suf¬ 
ferings ; perpetual motion, perpetual excitement, per¬ 
petual novelty ; city manners, city edifices, city luxu¬ 
ries ; all these being not less strikingly characteristic 
of the literature of this age, than the fairy land of ad¬ 
venture and the landscape gardening of “ Capability 
Brown” were characteristic of the two periods from 
Spenser to Milton, and from Dryden to Cowper. 

The literature of our time is commensurate with 
the universality of education; nor is it less various 
than universal to meet capacities of all sizes, minds of 
all acquirements, and tastes of every degree. Public 
taste, pampered with delicacies even to loathing, and 
stimulated to stupidity with excessive excitement, is 
at once ravenous and mawkish ; gratified with nothing 
but novelty, nor with novelty itself for more than an 
hour. To meet this diseased appetite, in prose not less 
than in verse, a factitious kind of the marvelous has 
been invented, consisting, not in the exhibition of su¬ 
pernatural incidents or heroes, but in such distortion, 
high coloring, and exaggeration of natural incidents 
, and ordinary personages by the artifices of style and 
the audacity of sentiment employed upon them, as 
shall produce that sensation of wonder in which half- 
instructed minds delight. This preposterous effort, at 
display may be traced through every walk of polite 
literature, and in every channel of publication. 

Never was there a time when so great a number of 
men of extraordinary genius flourished together in 
Great Britain. As many have existed, and perhaps 
there may be always an equal quantity of latent ca¬ 
pacity; but since the circumstances of no previous 


202 BRITISH NOVELS AND ROMANCES. [PART VI. 

period of human history have been altogether so cal¬ 
culated to awaken, inspirit, and perfect every species 
of intellectual energy, it is no arrogant assumption in 
favor of the living, no disparagement of the merits of 
the dead, to assert the manifest superiority of the for¬ 
mer in developed powers—powers of the rarest and 
most elevated kind in poetry. 


CHAPTER IV. 

BRITISH NOVELS AND ROMANCES. 

In what are properly Called novels, fictitious narra 
tives of corpmon life, the period between Pope and 
Cowper was more prolific than any preceding one. 
Indeed, the genuine novel was yet a novelty, which 
originated, or, rather, was introduced in the merry 
reign of Charles II., but never had been carried to its 
height of humor and reality till Fielding , Smollett , and 
Richardson, each in his peculiar and unrivaled way, 
displayed its utmost capabilities of painting men and 
manners as they are. 

These were followed by “ numbers without num¬ 
ber,” and without name, that peopled the shelves of 
the circulating libraries with the motley progeny of 
their brain. 

“The Waverley Novels,” by Sir Walter Scott, are 
undoubtedly the most extraordinary works of the age ; 
but exceedingly faulty in one literary point of view. 
The author, in his best performances, has blended fact 
and fiction, both in incidents and characters, so fre¬ 
quently, and made his pictures at once so natural to 
the life, yet often so contrary to historical verity, 
that henceforward it will be difficult to distinguish the 
imaginary from the real with regard to one or the 
other; thus the credulity of ages to come will be 
abused in the estimate of men, and the identity of 
events by the glowing illusion of his pages, in which 
the details are so minute and exquisite, that the truth 
of painting will win the author credit for truth of eve- 



PART VI.] THE BRITISH PERIODICAL PRESS. 203 

ry other kind, and most, it may be, where he least 
deserves it. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BRITISH PERIODICAL PRESS. 

But it is in the issues from the periodical press that 
the chief influence of literature in the present day con¬ 
sists. Newspapers alone, if no other evidence were 
to be adduced, would prove, incontrovertibly, the im¬ 
mense and hitherto unappreciated superiority, in point 
of mental culture, of the existing generation over all 
their forefathers, since Britain was invaded by Julius 
Caesar. The talents, learning, ingenuity, an<J eloquence 
employed in the conduct of many of these—the vari¬ 
ety of information conveyed through their columns 
from every quarter of the globe, to the obscurest cot¬ 
tage, and into the humblest mind of the realm, render 
newspapers, not luxuries, which they might be expect¬ 
ed to be among an indolent and voluptuous population, 
but absolute necessaries of life—the daily food of mill¬ 
ions of the most active, intelligent laborers, the most 
shrewd, indefatigable, and enterprising tribes on the 
face of the earth. 

Of higher rank, though far inferior potency, are the 
magazines : they rather reflect the image of the pub¬ 
lic mind, than contribute toward forming its features 
or giving it expression. Blackwood’s Edinburgh Mag¬ 
azine at this time (1831) probably takes the lead among 
the fraternity, and by the boldness, hilarity, and ad¬ 
dress with which it is managed, it has become equally 
formidable in politics and predominant in literature. 
In both of these departments the New Monthly, the 
London, the Metropolitan, Frazer’s Magazine, and oth¬ 
ers assume a high station. 

These writings display admirable talents, but are 
obnoxious to the censure that, in the style of their 
leading articles, all is effort, and splendor, and display 
—it is fine acting which falls short of nature. 

Reviews not only rank higher than magazines m 



204 ENGLISH PHILOSOPHERS AND CRITICS [PART VI. 

literature—rather by usurpation than right—but they 
rival newspapers themselves in political influence, 
while they hold divided empire with the weightier 
classes of literature, books of every size, and. kind, 
and character, on which, moreover, they exercise an 
authority peculiar to the present age, and never dream¬ 
ed of by critics in any past period. The Edinburgh, 
the Quarterly, the Westminster, and the Eclectic are 
the most prominent of the British reviews. 

Besides these, works of the largest kind and the 
most elaborate structure, in every department of learn¬ 
ing, abound in Britain: cyclopedias without measure, 
compilations without number, besides original treatis¬ 
es, which equally show the industry, talent, and ac¬ 
quirements of authors in all ranks of society, and of 
every gradation of intellect. 


CHAPTER VI. 

ENGLISH PHILOSOPHERS AND CRITICS OF THE PRESENT 
CENTURY. 

Extracted from the North American Review, 1835. 

Dugald Stewart, by far the most distinguished of 
the English (British) philosophers who have lived 
since Adam Smith, was a beautiful writer, and pos¬ 
sessed a large store of book-learning, which he has 
digested into several interesting, systematic works, 
which display, however, but little originality. He 
pursues with patience the track of the masters whom 
he venerated, smoothing obstructions, removing diffi¬ 
culties, scattering flowers as he goes—but he strikes 
out no new paths. Mackintosh , with an equal elegance 
of taste, had a higher power of thought, but his works 
have done no justice to his talent. Coleridge , who is 
now extolled by some of his admirers, especially on 
this side of the Atlantic, where his reputation, singu¬ 
larly enough, is greater than in England—as the first 
of philosophers, and, as such, the “ greatest man of 
the age,” appears to us, we must own, to possess very 
slender claims to this transcendent distinction. He 



PART VI.] OF THE PRESENT CENTURY. 205 

possessed, undoubtedly, a mind of a very high order, 
and was particularly fitted to excel in poetry, of which 
he has given some exquisite specimens ; but even 
here the fatal influence of indolence, or some other 
still more pernicious principle, has prevented him from 
doing himself justice. In his philosophical writings 
he shows a great deal of reading, but an almost total 
want of clearness and precision of thought. His mind 
seems to be swelling and laboring with a chaos of 
imaginations, which he has not reduced to shape, and 
of which he is, of course, incapable of estimating the 
real value. The only principle that stands out in 
some degree conspicuously in the midst of this confu¬ 
sion, and which he seems to have intended to make 
the corner-stone of his system, is a supposed distinc¬ 
tion between reason and understanding, or, in his own 
phraseology, the reason and the understanding, which 
we consider as wholly imaginary, and which, whether 
well or ill founded, has been for more than half a cen¬ 
tury the basis of the German transcendental metaphys¬ 
ics, and of course can entitle Coleridge to no great 
credit on the score of original power. Nor has he, as 
far as we can perceive, succeeded in establishing this 
principle, or even making it distinctly intelligible to 
his readers. A person who is curious on the subject 
will learn more from the first ten pages of Kant's 
Criticism on Pure Reason, where the supposed dis¬ 
tinction, such as it is, is intelligibly stated, than from 
the whole of Coleridge’s never-ending-still-beginning 
attempts to explain it, in which the English language 
breaks down with him at every step. 

Thomas Carlyle is, we think, the most profound and 
original of the living English philosophical writers. 
He is the person to whom we look with the greatest 
confidence to give a new spring and direction to these 
studies in the mother-country. In fact, the sceptre 
of philosophy, though it seems to have passed from 
Germany to France, where it is now wielded by the 
distinguished Cousin, still lingers on the Continent of 
Europe, and will not, probably, be transferred very 
soon to England. Coleridge and Carlyle are both, like 
IS 


200 ENGLISH PHILOSOPHERS AND CRITICS [PART VI. 

Cousin himself, disciples of the German transcendental 
school. 

In the North American Review for 1844, the style 
of Carlyle , as a writer, is censured in the following 
caustic terms. We insert the criticism to discourage 
students from an imitation of his style. 

Mr. Carlyle is a man of genius, learning, and hu¬ 
mane tendencies. His brilliant thoughts often break 
through the ragged clouds of his most absurd phrase¬ 
ology, and make us grieve that an author, capable of 
writing so well, should write so execrably; should 
spoil the effect of his fine powers by the paltry folly 
of imitating so bad a model as Jean Paul Richter, an 
“ original” writer who kept a commonplace book of 
odd expressiofts and far-fetched figures, which he em¬ 
broidered on the ground of his natural style. Thus, 
Carlyle rejected his own English and manly style, to 
imitate in English a bad German model. The Amer¬ 
ican Carlyle tribe imagined they were doing a wise 
and brilliant thing, by imitating the second-hand ab¬ 
surdities of an imitator, mistaking these borrowed 
follies for great originalities, and forgetting that af¬ 
fectation is the deadliest poison to the growth of sound 
literature. 

There is another English critic, Macaulay , the great 
Edinburgh Reviewer, to whom we can refer with more 
pleasure, in the words of the United States Demo¬ 
cratic Review for July, 1844, as probably the most 
brilliant writer of English prose now living, the last 
remaining member of that glorious band of wits, critics, 
and fine thinkers, who constituted the force of the 
Edinburgh in its prime—Jeffrey, Mackintosh, Hazlitt, 
Brougham, S. Smith, Carlyle, Stephens, and himself; 
uniting also the fame of a successful politician to that 
of a splendid periodical writer, he has obtained an ac¬ 
cumulation 'of honors rarely to be met in the person 
of a single individual. Macaulay 1 s Reviews are the very 
Iliad and Odyssey of criticism —models of that kind of 
waiting—abler men and deeper scholars have written 
review articles, yet without that mastery of the art. 
Hazlitt had a more copioub fancy, a richer vein, and 


PART VI.] BRITISH POETS. 207 

was altogether a more original thinker and critic, yet 
his reviews lie buried under a mass of duller matter. 
Macaulay wants, to be sure, the solidity of Burke , the 
rich philosophy of that poetic thinker; yet even Burke 
could not have hit the mark with greater nicety. He 
would have carried too much metal. Macaulay is es¬ 
sentially a critical essayist; not a mere critic, not an 
original judge, not a lecturer, but that rare union of 
critic and miscellaneous writer—a critical essayist. 
Portait painting and finished declamation have been 
carried to perfection in his articles, in which you find, 
besides, a treasury of fine and ingenious thoughts, 
richly illustrated and admirably employed. 


CHAPTER VII. 

BRITISH POETS 

SECTION I. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

Q. What are some of the circumstances of his life ? 

A. He was born at Stratford-on-Avon, in 1564. 
When a youth, he had trespassed on the hunting- 
grounds of a rich neighbor and written a scurrilous 
satire upon him, and to escape his vengeance fled to 
London, where he soon connected himself with the 
stage, first as an actor, then as an author. He con¬ 
tinued to write plays until two years before his death, 
which occurred in his native place in 1616. His plays 
are thirty-five in number. The subjects treated on, are 
the more striking parts of ancient and modern history, 
and the stories supplied by Italian novelists. They 
are tragic, comic, and mixed in their character. The 
author appears to have had no anticipation of the brill¬ 
iant reputation they were destined to receive after his 
decease. 

Q. What have critics said of the peculiarities of his genius and 
writings ? 

A. The power of language has been tasked to eu¬ 
logize his literary merits. One has said that the 



208 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

pyramids will crumble to the dust, and the Nile be 
dry, and the Ethiop change his skin, and the leopard 
his spots, before Shakspeare will grow obsolete with 
us. He looked on man, &nd at once became master 
of the inmost recesses of his soul, as it were by intu¬ 
ition,. He has exhibited the mind of man in all its 
phases. His propensities, his habits, his practices, 
his reasoning, false and philosophical, were all ex¬ 
hibited by him in truth and power. His virtues, his 
weaknesses, his eccentricities, were all known to this 
great anatomist of the human mind; his hopes, his 
passions, his frivolities were all laid bare to him.' 

While unsurpassed in the variety and magnificence 
of his poetic creations (says another critic), he thinks 
with a precision, a depth, a comprehensive and intui¬ 
tive power, seldom equalled. In all his characters, 
whether fanciful, or intended to personify real beings, 
not a feature or a line is misplaced. Nor is he less 
true in his representations of inanimate objects. Hu¬ 
man nature he learned not from study, but from ob¬ 
servation and intuition. He may justly be called the 
poet of human nature, not of one age, but of all—the 
poet not of one country, but of all. To say that Shaks¬ 
peare had no faults would be saying that he was not 
human; his blemishes are those of his age, his beau¬ 
ties are his own. He stands alone upon a summit 
unattained before, and inaccessible to all that follow ; 
above the elemental strife of criticism, smiling at the 
thunders which roll beneath his feet, and unobscured 
by the clouds that gather only around the base of that 
proud eminence. 

It has also been remarked, that in none of the per¬ 
sons of his dramas is any thing of their author to be 
seen. Every one speaks and acts for himself, as he 
might be expected to do in the supposed circum¬ 
stances. 

Q. Whence did Shakspeare derive the materials of his plays ? 

A. Though not a classical scholar, he read numer¬ 
ous translations of ancient works. He had read all 
the romances, tales, legends, and novels, written in 
English; also in histories and biographies then ex- 


BRITISH POETS. 


209 


PART VI.] 

tant. He is generally accurate in the incidents he in¬ 
troduces, though he sometimes takes liberties with 
them. He took his words from the common people, 
from all classes in the busy scenes of life, and from 
the popular books of his day. 

Q. What objections lie against the writings of Shakspeare ? 

A. He disregarded the unities of time and place— 
but this is no great matter—he deals in puns and quib¬ 
bles— but, above all, he often employs expressions 
not only vulgar and low, but indecent — common in 
his day, but unsuited to the higher ideas of propriety 
that prevail in our own day and country. An edition 
of Shakspeare, purged from vulgarity and indecency, 
would be a valuable contribution to the literature of 
the age. A volume has lately been published, entitled, 
“ The Wisdom and Genius of Shakspeare, 7 ’ consisting 
of extracts under appropriate heads. This deserves 
a high place in the private, and in the School Library. 

It is difficult to select fine specimens from Shaks¬ 
peare that have not become too familiar to excite 
much interest. Cardinal Wolsey’s Speech to Crom¬ 
well—Marc Antony’s Address on the death of Caesar, 
may be referred to as admirable portions of Shaks- 
peare’s writings. 

We can not forbear to give his graphic account of 
the Seven Ages of Man. 

COURSE OF HUMAN LIFE. 

“ All the world’s a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players ; 

They have their exits and their entrances ; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant, 

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms ; 

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school; and then the lover, 

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress’s eyebrow: then a soldier, 

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, 

Seeking the bubble reputation, 

Even in the cannon’s mouth : and then the justice 
In fair found belly, with good capon lined; 


210 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 


With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, 

Full of wise saws and modern instances, 

And so he plays his part: the sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. 

His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound: last scene of all, 

That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness and mere oblivion, 

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.” 

Of Shakspeare, Hazlitt remarks, that his genius shone 
equally on the evil and on the good, on the wise and on the 
foolish, the monarch and the beggar. He turned the globe 
round for his amusement, and surveyed the generations of 
men, and the individuals as they passed, with their differ¬ 
ent concerns, passions, follies, vices, virtues, actions, and 
motives—as well those that they knew, as those which they 
did not know or acknowledge to themselves. The dreams 
of childhood, the ravings of despair, were the toys of his 
fancy. Airy beings waited at his call and came at his bid¬ 
ding. The world of spirits lay open to him, like the world 
of real men and women; and there is the same truth in his 
delineations of the one as of the other; for if the preternatural 
characters he describes could be supposed to exist, they 
would speak, and feel, and act as he makes them. He had 
only to think of any thing in order to become that thing, 
with all the circumstances belonging to it. 

The poet may be said, for the time, to identify himself 
with the character he wishes to represent, and to pass from 
one to another, like the same soul successively animating 
different bodies. His plays are expressions of the passions 
rather than descriptions of them. 

Shakspeare’s language and versification are like the rest 
of him. He has a magic power over words: they come 
winged at his bidding, and seem to know their places. They 
are struck out at a heat, and have all the truth and vivid¬ 
ness which arise from an actual impression of the objects. 
His language translates thoughts into visible images. 

SECTION II. 

MILTON-PARADISE LOST. 

Q What are some of the circumstances in the life of this re¬ 
markable man ? 


BRITISH POETS. 


211 


PART VI.] 

A. He was born in London, in 1608, was graduated 
at the University of Cambridge, spent some years in 
rural retirement, then traveled on the Continent, so¬ 
journing a while in Italy. Upon his return, he became 
Latin secretary to Cromwell, having gained distinction 
by writing in favor of the Commonwealth. In 1652, he 
was deprived of sight, yet continued to publish political 
pamphlets, until Cromwell’s death and the restoration 
of the Stuart family to the throne. He then retired 
and composed his immortal work, the Paradise Lost , 
which was first published in 1667. For this noble 
work he received only ten pounds from his publisher, 
while his widow received but eight more; so little was 
the work appreciated in that age of loose morality. 

Q. What are the most important features of this poem ? 

A. It is written in the finest, style of blank verse. 
As soon as we open it, we find ourselves introduced 
all at once into an invisible world, and surrounded 
with celestial and infernal beings. Angels and devils 
are not the machinery, but the principal actors in the 
poem, and what, in any other composition, would be 
the marvelous, is here only the natural course of 
events. The subject suited the daring sublimity of 
his genius. He narrates the.circumstances of the fall 
of man, for which the Scriptures furnish only scanty 
materials, but the imagination of the poet has supplied 
a wonderful variety and abundant incidents. 

Considerable portions of the work describe scenes 
and events above this world; and as man can form 
no ideas of which the objects around him have not 
supplied, at least, the elements, the poet may be said 
to have fallen short of his design. His heaven is only 
a more magnificent kind of earth, and his most ex¬ 
alted supernatural beings only a nobler order of men. 
These passages, however, are the finest in the book. 
The artful change of objects : the scene laid now in 
earth, now in hell, and now in heaven, affords a suffi¬ 
cient diversity; while unity of plan is, at the same 
time, supported. Still life and calm scenes are pre¬ 
sented in the employments of Adam and Eve in Para¬ 
dise ; while busy scenes and great actions occur in 


212 BRITISH POETS. [PART VI. 

the enterprise of Satan and in the wars of the angels. 
Satan makes a striking figure, and is considered the 
best drawn character in the poem—though Milton has 
not described him as an infernal spirit should, in truth, 
have been described. He appears no worse than 
some bold factious chief sometimes read of in history. 
The different characters of Beelzebub, Moloch, Belial, 
are exceedingly well painted in eloquent speeches, 
which they make in the second book. Among the 
good angels are the finely-drawn characters of the 
dignified Michael, the mild and affable Raphael, and 
the faithful Abdiel. The poet has greatly failed, how¬ 
ever, in the attempt he has made to describe the Al¬ 
mighty, and to recount dialogues between the Father 
and the Son. With respect to the human characters, 
the innocence of our first parents and their love are 
finely and delicately painted — perhaps overdrawn, 
however, in some respects. 

Almost the whole of the first and second books is 
a specimen of continued instances of the highest sub¬ 
limity, in which quality he surpasses Homer, and es¬ 
pecially Virgil. The sixth book affords other speci¬ 
mens of sublimity, particularly in relating the appear¬ 
ance of the Messiah. Some parts of that book are 
justly censured; for instance, the witticisms of the 
devils upon the effect of their artillery. 

Beauty and pathos distinguish other portions of this 
great poem. The latter part of the poem is not so 
well sustained as the former. With the fall of our 
first parents, the genius of the author seems to have 
declined, yet there are striking passages of a tragic 
and pathetic nature, those which relate to the remorse 
and contrition of the guilty pair, and their lamentations 
over the loss of Paradise. 

Fancy, learning, vividness of description, stateli¬ 
ness, decorum, are exhibited throughout the poem. 
The style is elaborate and powerful, and the versifica¬ 
tion, with occasional harshness and affectation, is su¬ 
perior in variety and harmony to all other blank verse. 
It has the effect of a fine piece of music. It affords the 
most complete example of the elevation which our 


BRITISH POETS. 


PART VI.J 


213 


language is capable of attaining by the force of num¬ 
bers. 

As to defects of the work, besides those mentioned 
already, he is thought to deal too profoundly in theo¬ 
logical and metaphysical speculations—his language 
is often harsh—words technical—and too great a dis¬ 
play is made of his learning—but these faults were 
those of his age. 

The above criticisms have been selected chiefly 
from Blair. They are sufficient to awaken a desire 
and a determination to read this immortal poem, and 
to prepare for a profitable and agreeable reading of it; 
but the subject will justify a few additional lines from 
the pen of a late writer in our own country. He says, 
that probably, of all poems now in existence, this is the 
most learned, the most original, and the most sublime. 
In his descriptions, the poet seems a volcano, pouring 
forth floods of fire, shaking nature to her centre— 
shaking earth and heaven—all but the throne of God. 
It must, indeed, be confessed, that sometimes he seems 
extinguished; his thunderings are hushed; and we 
see nothing but the dark lava, the cinders, and the 
ashes. But he is still a great mountain. 

But sublimity and originality, though the chief glo¬ 
ries of this amazing poem, are not the whole. He 
dips his pencil in heavenly fountains, and gives us 
pictures scarcely less beautiful than others are grand. 
He can paint the dew-drop, and show us the humble 
violet in all its brilliancy, in all its humble loveliness, 
as well as the battle-field of heaven, convulsed with 
warring angels, blazing and smoking with the artillery 
of Satan, and tempestuous with flying mountains. 

As a sequel to the Paradise Lost , Milton afterwards 
composed the Paradise Regained , in which are repre¬ 
sented the circumstances of the Redemption of man. 
By some it is more highly esteemed than the former. 
It was so by the author, but it is generally considered 
an inferior production, probably because the subject 
is less favorable to poetical invention and fancy. 

A dramatic poem on the story of Samson, and a 
beautiful masque entitled Comus , are admired produc¬ 
tions of the same great author. 


214 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

We shall close our critical remarks on the works 
of Milton by quoting from Hazlitt, an acute and dis 
criminating English writer, though, apparently, not 
always candid. 

Milton wrote with a resolution to leave nothing undone 
which it was in his power to do. He strives hard to say 
the finest things in the world, and he does say them. He 
adorns and dignifies his subject to the utmost; he sur¬ 
rounds it with every possible association of beauty or 
grandeur, whether moral, intellectual, or physical. He re¬ 
fines on his descriptions of beauty; loading sweets on 
sweets, till the sense aches at them ; and raises his images 
of terror to a gigantic elevation, that “ makes Ossa like a 
wart.” 

Milton’s learning has all the effect of intuition. He de¬ 
scribes objects of which he could only have read in books, 
with the vividness of actual observation. His imagination 
has the force of nature. He makes w r ords tell as pictures. 

. “ Him follow’d Rimmon, whose delightful seat 
Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 
Of Abbana and Pharpar, lucid streams.” 

The word lucid here gives to the idea all the sparkling ef¬ 
fect of the most perfect landscape. 

And again: 

“ As when a vulture on Imaus bred, 

Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds, 

Dislodging from a region scarce of prfey, 

To gorge the flesh of lambs and yearling kids 
On hills where flocks are fed, j dies toward the springs 
Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams ; 

But in his way lights on the barren plains 

Of Sericana, where Chineses drive 

With sails and wind their cany wagons light.'* 

If Milton had taken a journey for the express purpose, 
he could not have described this scenery and mode 01 life 
better. 

Again, nothing can be more magnificent than the po.trait 
of Beelzebub: 

“ With AtlanteaU shoulders fit to bear 
The weight of mightiest monarchies.” 

Or the comparison of Satan, as he “ lay floating many ?. 
rood,” to “ that sea beast,” 

“Leviathan, which God of all his works 
Created hugest that swim the ocean stream 1” 


BRITISH POETS. 


215 


PART VI.] 

What a force of imagination is there in this last expres¬ 
sion ! What an idea it conveys of that hugest of created 
beings, as if it shrank up the ocean to a stream, and took 
up the sea in its nostrils as a very little thing! Force of 
style is one of Milton’s greatest excellences. Hence, per¬ 
haps, he stimulates us more in the reading, and less after¬ 
ward. The way to defend Milton against all impugners is 
to take down the book and read it. 

Milton’s blank verse is the only blank verse in the lan¬ 
guage, except Shakspeare’s (the author would also except 
some American poets, and some other British poets too), 
that deserves the name of verse. Dr. Johnson, who had 
modeled his ideas of versification on the regular sing-song 
of Pope, condemns the Paradise Lost, as harsh and unequal. 
This is, indeed, sometimes the case; but I imagine that 
there are more perfect examples in Milton of musical ex¬ 
pression, or of an adaptation of the sound and movement of 
the verse to the meaning of the passage, than in all our 
other (English) writers put together, with the exception 
mentioned. The sound of his lines is moulded into the expres¬ 
sion of the sentiment, almost of the very image. They rise 
or fall, pause or hurry on, with exquisite art, but without 
the least trick or affectation, as the occasion seems to re¬ 
quire. 

The following are some of the finest instances • 

“ His hand was known 
In heaven by many a tower’d structure high; 

Nor was his name unheard or unadored 
In ancient Greece: and in the Ausonian Land 
Men call’d him Mulciber: and how he fell 
From heaven, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove 
Sheer o’er the crystal battlements; from mom 
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 

A summer’s day ; and with the setting sun 
Dropp’d from the zenith like a falling star 
On Lemnos, the Egean isle: thus they relate, 

Erring.” 

“ But chief the spacious hall 
Thick swarm’d, both on the ground and in the air 
Brush’d with the hiss of rustling winds—as bees 
In spring time, when the sun with Taurus rides, 

Pour forth their populous youth about the hive 
In clusters ; they among fresh dews and flowers 
Fly to and fro: or on the smoothed plank, 

The suburb of their straw-built citadel, 

New rubb’d with balm, expatiate and confer 
Their state affairs. So thick the airy crowd 


216 


BRITISH POETS. 


[PART VI. 


Swarm’d, and were straiten’d: till the signal given, 

Behold a wonder !” * * * * 

The verse, in the exquisitely modulated passage that fol¬ 
lows, floats up and down as if it had itself Wings: 

“ Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood 
So high above the circling canopy 
Of night’s extended shade) from th’ eastern point 
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears 
Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 
Beyond the horizon : then from pole to pole 
He views in breadth, and without longer pause 
Down into the world’s first region throws 
His flight precipitant, and winds with ease 
Through the pure marble air his oblique way 
Among innumerable stars that shone, 

Stars distant, but nigh hand seem’d other worlds ; 

Or other worlds they seem’d, or happy isles,” &c. 

The interest of the jpoem arises from the daring ambition 
and fierce passions of Satan, and from the account of the 
paradisaical happiness, and the loss of it by our first parents. 
Three fourths of the work are taken up with these charac¬ 
ters, and nearly all that relates to them is unmixed sub¬ 
limity and beauty. The first two books alone are like two 
massy pillars of solid gold. 

Satan is the most heroic subject that was ever chosen for a 
poem; and the execution is as perfect as the design is lofty. 
He was the first of created beings, who, for endeavoring to 
be equal with the Highest, and to divide the empire of heav¬ 
en with the Almighty, was hurled down to hell. His aim 
was no less than the throne of the universe; his means, 
myriads of angelic armies bright, the third part of the heav¬ 
ens, whom he lured after him with his countenance, and 
who durst defy the Omnipotent in arms. His ambition was 
the greatest, and his punishment was the greatest: but not 
so his despair, for his fortitude was as great as his suffer¬ 
ings. His strength of mind was matchless as his strength 
of body. He was the greatest power that was ever over¬ 
thrown, with the strongest will left to resist, or to endure. 
He was baffled, not confounded. He stood like a tower ; or 
“As when Heaven’s fire 

Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines.” 

He is still surrounded with hosts of rebel angels, armed 
warriors, who own him as their sovereign leader, and with 
whose fate he sympathizes as he views them round, far as 


BRITISH POETS. 


PART VI.] 


217 


the eye can reach ; though he keeps aloof from them in his 
own mind, and holds supreme counsel only with his own 
breast. An outcast from Heaven, Hell trembles beneath 
his feet, Sin and Death are at his heels, and mankind are 
his easy prey. 

“ All is not lost; the unconquerable will, 

And study of revenge, immortal hate, 

And courage never to submit or yield, 

And what else is not to be overcome,” 

are still his. The loss of infinite happiness to himself is 
compensated in thought by the power of inflicting infinite 
misery on others. Yet Milton's Satan is not the principle 
of malignity, or of the abstract love of evil, but of the abstract 
love of power, of pride, of self-will personified. He expresses^ 
the sum and substance of all ambition in one line : 

“ Fallen cherub, to be weak is miserable, 

Doing or suffering!” 

After his conflict and defeat, he founds a new empire in 
Hell, and from it conquers this new world, w r hither he 
bends his undaunted flight, forcing his way through nether 
and surrounding fires. Wherever the figure of Satan is in¬ 
troduced, whether he walks or flies, “rising aloft, incum¬ 
bent on the dusky air,” it is illustrated with the most 
striking and appropriate images: so that we see it always 
before us, gigantic, irregular, portentous, uneasy, and dis¬ 
turbed, but dazzling in its faded splendor. The deformity 
of Satan is only in the unparalleled depravity of his will. 
He has no bodily depravity to excite our loathing or disgust. 
He has neither horns, nor tail, nor cloven foot. Some think, 
and perhaps justly, that Milton has erred in drawing the 
character of Satan too favorably, or, rather, in making him 
the chief person in his poem; and they have ascribed this 
to Milton’s love of rebellion against the magistracies of his 
own day. 

Satan’s final departure from Heaven, and the sentiments 
with which he approaches and enters Hell, are portrayed 
in the most masterly style : 

“ Farewell, happy fields, 

Where joy forever dwells! Hail horrors, hail 
Infernal world! and thou, profoundest hell, 

Receive thy new possessor; one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time. 

The mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n. 

T 


218 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


What matter where, if I be still the same, 

And what I should be, all but less than He 
Whom thunder hath made greater ? Here at least 
We shall be free ; th’ Almighty hath not built 
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : 

Here we may reign secure, and in my choice 
To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: 

Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” 

Perhaps of all the passages in Paradise Lost, the descrip 
tion of the employments > of the angels during the absence 
of Satan, some of whom’, “ retreated in a silent valley, sing 
with notes angelical to many a harp their own heroic deeds 
and hapless fall by doom of battle,” is the most perfect ex¬ 
ample of mingled pathos and sublimity. 

The character which a living poet has given of Spenser 
would be much more true of Milton: 

“ Yet not more sweet 

Than pure was he, and not more pure than wise; 

High Priest of all the Muses’ mysteries.” 

Milton has finely shown the power of discrimination in 
respect to character in 

EVE’S LAMENTATION 

ON BEING DRIVEN FROM PARADISE. 

“ O unexpected stroke, worse than of death! 

Must I thus leave-thee, Paradise ? thus leave 
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades, 

Fit haunt of Gods ? where I had hoped to spend, * 
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day 
That must be mortal to us both. 0 flowers, 

That never will in other climate grow, 

My early visitation and my last 

At even, which I bred up with tender hand 

From the first opening bud, and gave ye names, 

Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank 
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount ? 

Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorn’d 

With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee 

How shall I part, and whither wander down 

Into a lower world, to this obscure 

And wild ? How shall we breathe in other air 

Less pure, accustom’d to immortal fruits ?” 

Adam’s reflections on the same mournful occasion are in 
a different strain, and still finer. After expressing his sub¬ 
mission to the will of his Maker, he says, 


PART VI.] BRITISH POETS. 219 

“ This most afflicts me, that departing hence 
As from His face I shall be hid, deprived 
His bless’d countenance; here I could frequent 
With worship place by place where He vouchsafed 
Presence divine, and to my sons relate, 

On this mount He appear’d, under this tree . 

Stood visible, among these pines His voice 
I heard, here with Him at this fountain talk’d: 

So many grateful altars I would rear 

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone 

Of lustre from the brook, in memory 

Or monument to ages, and thereon 

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers. 

In yonder nether world where shall I seek 
His bright appearances, or footstep trace ? 

For though I fled him angry, yet, recall’d 
To life prolong’d and promised race, I now 
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts 
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.” 

SECTION II'I. 

SAMUEL BUTLER, 

Author of Hudibras. 

Strongly contrasted to Milton in every respect was his 
contemporary, Samuel Butler (1612-1680), the son of a 
farmer in Worcestershire, and at all times a poor man, but 
possessed of a rich fancy and a singular power of witty and 
pointed expression. His chief wofk was Hudibras , publish¬ 
ed in 1663 and subsequent years, a comic poem in short- 
rhymed couplets, designed to burlesque the characters of 
the zealously religious and Republican party, which had re¬ 
cently held sway. Notwithstanding the service which he 
thus performed to the Royalist cause and to Charles II., he 
was suffered to die in such poverty that the expense of his 
funeral was defrayed by a friend. In Hudibras, a Republi¬ 
can officer, of the most grotesque figure and accoutrements, 

, s represented as sallying out, like a knight-errant, for the 
reformation of the state ; and his character is thus, in the 
'first place, described : 

CHARACTER OF SIR HUDIBRAS. 

He was in logic a great critic, 

Profoundly skill’d in analytic : 

He could distinguish, and divide 
A hair ’tvvixt south and southwest side ; 

On either which he would dispute, 

Confute, change hands, and still confute; 


I 


220 BRITISH POETS. [PART VI. 

He’d run in debt by disputation, 

And pay with ratiocination: 

All this by syllogism true, 

In mood and figure he would do. 

For rhetoric, he could not ope 

His mouth,but out there flew a trope; 

And when he happen’d to break off 
I* th’ middle of his speech, or cough, 

H’ had hard words ready to show why, 

And tell what rules he did it by; 

Else when with greatest art he spoke, 

You’d think he talk’d like other folk; 

For all a rhetorician’s rules 
Teach nothing but to name his tools. 

But when he pleased to show’t, his speech 
In loftiness of sound was rich; 

A Babylonish dialect, 

Which learned pedants much affect; 

It was a party-color’d dress 
Of patch’d and py-bald languages ; 

’Twas English, cut on Greek and Latin, 

Like fustian, heretofore, on satin. 

In mathematics he was greater 
Than Tycho Brahe or Erra Pater; 

For he, by geometric scale, 

Could take the size of pots of ale ; 

Resolve by signs and tangents straight, 

If bread and butter wanted weight, 

And wisely tell what hour o’ th’ day 
The clock does strike by algebra. 

Beside, he was a shrewd philosopher, 

And had read every text and gloss over; ' ’ 

Whate’er the crabbed’st author hath, 

He understood b’ implicit faith; 

Whatever sceptic could inquire for, 

For every why he had a wherefore; 

Knew more than forty of them do, 

As far as words and terms could go; 

All which he understood by rote, 

And, as occasion served, would quote ; 

No matter whether right or wrong, 

They might be either said or sung. 

SECTION IV. 

young (1681-1765). 

Night Thoughts. 

The principal work of Edward Young is the Night 
Thoughts. This poem, by some critics, has been pro¬ 
nounced mournful, angry, gloomy, and represented as 


BRfriSH POETS. 


221 


PART VI.] 

springing from disappointed ambition rather than from 
superior sentiments. It is thought, however, to ex¬ 
hibit a wide display of original poetry, variegated with 
deep reflections and striking allusions—a wildness of 
thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flow¬ 
ers of every hue and of every odor. He was too 
fond of antithesis , and often too turgid in his style ; 
yet he paints, with the most lively fancy, the feelings 
of the heart, the vanity of human things, its fleeting 
honors and enjoyments, and he presents some of the 
strongest arguments in support of the immortality of 
the soul. 

The late Joseph Emerson speaks of this work as 
the dear companion of his early youth, most faithful 
counselor of his advancing days—a precious, invalu¬ 
able friend—for more than thirty summers the balm 
of his sorrows, the pillow of his weary, throbbing 
head—the sweetener of his sweetest joys. “Dark 
and dismal, indeed, are many of his pictures; but I 
think not more so than their originals. If so, we 
should not blame the painter, but the subjects.” But 
his pictures of redemption are most glorious. “ To 
me, the Night Thoughts is a poem, on the whole, most 
animating and delightful—amazingly energetic—full 
of the richest instruction—improving to the mind— 
much of it worthy of being committed to memory— 
some faults—some passages unfit to be read—obscure 
—extravagant—tinged occasionally with flattery.” 

The work is well adapted for exercising the mind 
in the process of analysis and criticism. 

CONSCIENCE 

“ Conscience, what art thou ? Thou tremendous power 1 
Who dost inhabit us without our leave ; 

And act within ourselves, another self, 

A master-self, that loves to domineer, 

And treat the monarch frankly as the slave: 

How dost thou light a torch to distant deeds ! 

Make the past, present, and the future frown! 

How, ever and anon, awake the soul, 

As with a peal of thunder, to strange horrors, 

*In this long restless dream, which idiots hug— 

Nay, wise men flatter with the name of life!” 


222 BRITISH POETS. [_PART VI. 

DEATH. 

“ Why start at death? Where is he? death arrived, 

Is past; not come or gone, he’s never here. 

Ere hope, sensation fails, black boding man 
Receives, not suffers death’s tremendous blow. 

The knell, the shroud, the mattock, and the grave, 

The deep, damp vault, the darkness, and the worm— 

These are the bugbears of a winter’s eve, 

The terrors of the living, not the dead. 

Imagination’s fool, and error’s wretch, 

Man makes a death, which nature never made; 

Then on the point of his own fancy falls, 

And feels a thousand deaths in fearing one.” 

For another specimen, yet more characteristic of Dr. 
Young’s mind, refer to the chapter on Sublimity in this 
work. 

SECTION Y. 

OF DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784). 

His Criticisms on Milton. 

[Extracted from the North American Review, 1835.] 

Dr. Channing has gained great celeWity for his criticism 
upon Milton, in which he vindicates the latter from the un¬ 
just representations of Dr. Johnson, in his “ Lives of the 
Poets.” Dr. Johnson has certainly not done justice to Mil- 
ton ; but this was owing, we think, to his political prejudi¬ 
ces, and not, as Dr. Channing intimates, to any want ol 
“ enthusiasm, creative imagination, or lofty sentiment.” The 
author of Rasselas, if he had never written another word, 
would have amply substantiated, by that work only, his 
claims to the possession of all those faculties in their fullest 
perfection. But all his other works are marked by the same 
general characteristics. The Rambler is one perpetual flow 
of the purest wisdom, embodied in the richest language. It 
is, from one end to the other, as Cicero says with so much 
beauty of Aristotle, a river of flowing gold. Why should 
we find fault with the style, because its merit is not exactly 
the same with that which we admire in the works of some 
other great writers 1 Are there not in the gardens of let¬ 
ters and art, as well as in those of nature, a hundred kinds 
of beauty, all different, and each equally charming in its 
own way? For ourselves, we look on Dr. Johnson as the 
master-mind of the last century. We respect even what 
we may consider his errors, for they were generally clbsely 
connected with the highest virtues. Almost every line that 


BRITISH POETS, 


223 ' 


PART VI.] 

he wrote has a real value. We rejoice more especially that 
it fell to his lot—and it was a singular distinction, reserved 
for him alone of all the human beings that have yet lived— 
to furnish, in his conversation, the materials for a copious 
and elaborate book—one of the most instructive and enter¬ 
taining in the whole compass of literature; a work which 
is quaintly styled by a late writer the Johnsoniad, and which, 
for our own reading, we much prefer to the whole array of 
modern “ degraded epics.” 

Of Johnson, Dr. Channing says: 

“We trust we are not blind to his merits. His stately 
march, his pomp and power of language, his strength of 
thought, his reverence for virtue and religion, his vigorous 
logic, his practical wisdom, his insight into the springs of 
human action, and the solemn pathos which occasionally 
pervades his descriptions of life, and his references to his 
own history, command our willing admiration. We do not 
blame him for not being Milton. We love intellectual pow¬ 
er in all its forms, and delight in the variety of mind. We 
blame him only that his passions, prejudices, and bigotry, 
engaged him in the unworthy task of obscuring the brighter 
glory of one of the mo^t gifted and virtuous men. We only 
ask the friends of genius not to put their faith in Johnson’s 
delineations of it. His biographical works are tinged with 
his notoriously strong prejudices, and of all his ‘Lives,’ 
we hold that of Milton to be the most apocryphal.” (For 
some other remarks on Milton, see section ii.) 

SECTION VI. 

ALEXANDER POPE 

appeared with repute as an author about the year 
1709. His principal efforts in boyhood were transla¬ 
tions from the Roman poets, a kind of literature then 
much cultivated. At sixteen he wrote some pasto¬ 
rals, and the beginning of Windsor Castle, which, when 
published, a few years after, obtained high praise for 
melody of versification. His Essay on Criticism was 
written at the age of twenty-one, and was extolled 
for its happy illustrations. It is said to be a fair speci¬ 
men of what the wits of Queen Anne’s reign were 
most pleased with—an epigrammatic turn of thought, 
and a happy appropriateness of expression. 


f »24 BRITISH POETS. [_PART VI. 

The following is one of the most admired passa¬ 
ges in this poem: 

“ But most by numbers judge a poet’s song; 

And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong 
In the bright muse, though thousand charms conspire, 

Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire. 

Who haunt Parnassus but to please the ear, 

Not mend their minds ; as some to church repair, 

Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 

These equal syllables alone require, 

Though oft the ear the open vowels tire; 

While expletives their feeble aid do join, 

And ten low words oft creep in one dull line: 

While they ring round the same unvaried chimes 
With sure returns of still expected rhymes; 

Where’er you find ‘ the cooling western breeze,’ 

In the next line it ‘ whispers through the trees ;’ 

If crystal streams ‘ with pleasing murmurs creep,’ 

The reader’s threaten’d, pot in vain, with ‘ sleep :’ 

Then, at the last and only couplet fraught 
With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, 

A needless Alexandrine ends the song, 

Which , like a wounded snake , drags its slow length along." 

The dexterity with which the passages here marked 
hi italics were made to exemplify the faults which 
they condemned, was greatly prized by the readers of 
those days ; and it is allowed that these deformities 
were thenceforward banished from our literature. 

The two most beautiful poems of Pope, written 
when he was only twenty-three years of age, are, 
the Rape of the Lock , and the Elegy on an Unfortunate 
Lady. The former contains more fancy than any 
other of his poems, though it is exerted only on ludi¬ 
crous and artificial objects. Its machinery consists of 
a set of supernatural beings, who, like the heathen 
deities in the Iliad and iEneid, were employed in de¬ 
veloping the plot and bringing it to a conclusion: it 
consisted of the sylphs and gnomes, good and evil 
genii, who were supposed by the Rosicrucian philos¬ 
ophers to direct the proceedings of human beings; 
and no kind of creatures could have been better adapt¬ 
ed to direct the proceedings of human beings, and to 
enter into a story compounded, as this is, of airy fash¬ 
ionable frivolities. 

The heroine of his other poem, the Elegy , is said 


BRITISH POETS. 


225 


PART VI.] 

to have destroyed herself in France, in consequence 
of her affections being blighted by the tyranny of an 
uncle, and the following are some of the more pathetic 
lines in which her loss is deplored: 

What can atone, oh ever injured shade, 

Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid ? 

No friend’s complaint,-no kind domestic tear, 

Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful biei 
. By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed, 

By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed, 

By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn’d, 

By strangers honor’d, and by strangers mourn’d! 

* •*■**•* * * 

So peaceful rests, without a stone, a name. 

That once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame— 

A heap of dust alone remains of thee ; 

’Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be ! 

At twenty-five Pope’s reputation, as a poet, was 
established. His next work was a translation of the 
Iliad and part of the Odyssey —both fascinating and 
brilliant translations, though wanting the simple maj¬ 
esty and unaffected grandeur of the heathen poet. 

His principal satirical poem is the Dunciad , a work 
of misdirected talent, and full of sentiments incon¬ 
sistent with the character of a Christian author. At 
the suggestion of Lord Bolingbroke, his next produc¬ 
tion was the Essay on Man , in which he embodied a 
series of arguments respecting the human being, in 
relation to the universe, to himself, to society, and to 
the pursuit of happiness. This was published in 1733, 
and displays the poet’s extraordinary power of man¬ 
aging argument in verse, and of compressing his 
thoughts into clauses of the most energetic brevity, 
as well as of expanding them into passages glittering 
with every poetic ornament. Yet the work abounds 
in theological errors. His Letters are elegant and 
sprightly, but are too evidently written for parade to 
be agreeable. He died in 1744, at the age of fifty-six. 

The following fine passage is from the Essay on Man: 

PROVIDENCE VINDICATED IN THE PRESENT STATE OF 
MAN. 

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate; 

All but the page prescribed, their present state; 


226 


BRITISH POETS. 


1 ?at p ;i 


From brutes what men, from men what spin* Know . 
Or who could suffer being here below ■ 

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day 
Had he thy reason, would he skip and p.ay ! 

Pleased to the last, he crops the flow’ry i >o\. 

And licks the hand just raised to shed his- blood 

Oh blindness to the future ! kindly giv'n, 

That each may fill the circle mark’d by Heav’n, 

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall; 

Atoms or systems into ruin hurl’d, 

And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 

Hope humbly, then ; with trembling pinions soar, 
Wait the great teacher, Death ; and God adore. 

What future bliss he gives not thee to know, 

But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 

Hope springs eternal in the human breast; 

Man never is, but always to be bless’d. 

The soul, uneasy, and confined from horn' - , 

Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 

Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutor’d mind 
Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the w‘nd. 

His soul proud science never taught to stray 
Far as the Solar Walk or Milky Way. 

Yet simple nature to his hope has giv’n, 

Behind the cloud-topp’d hill, an humbler heav n, 
Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, 

Some happier island in the watery waste ; 

Where slaves once more their native land behold. 

No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold 
To be, contents his natural desire; 

He asks no angel’s wing, no seraph’s fire: 

But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 

His faithful dog shall bear him company. 

Go, wiser thou ! and in thy scale of sense, 

Weigh thy opinion against Providence; 

Call imperfection what thou fanciest such ; 

Say here he gives too little, there too much. 

In pride, in reas’ning pride, our error lies ; 

All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. 

Pride still is aiming at the bless’d abodes ; 

Men would be angels, angels would be gods. 

Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, 

Aspiring to be angels, men rebel: 

And who but wishes to invert the laws 
Of order, sins against th’ eternal cause. 


BaRT YI.J 


BRITISH POETS. 


227 


SECTION VII. 

THOMAS GRAY (1716-1771) 

was professor of modern languages and history in the 
University of Cambridge. His most popular poem 
is his Elegy, written in a country church-yard, in 1750. 
The charm of his writings is to be traced to the natu¬ 
rally exquisite ear of the poet, having been trained to 
consummate skill in harmony, by long familiarity with 
the finest models in the most poetical of all languages, 
the Greek and Italian. In regard to the “ Progress of 
Poetry ,” and “ The Bard,” it is said, that there is not 
an ode in the English language which is constructed 
like these two compositions; with such power, such 
majesty, and such sweetness ; with such proportioned 
pauses and just cadences; with such regulated meas¬ 
ures of the verse. 


ODE 

ON THE DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. 

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, 

Ah fields beloved in vain, 

Where once my careless childhood play’d, 

A stranger yet to pain ! 

I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, 

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing, 

My weary soul they seem to soothe, 

And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 

******** 
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possess’d; 

The tear forgot as soon as shed, 

The sunshine of the breast: 

There’s buxom health of rosy hue, 

Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer, of vigor bom; 

The thoughtless day, the easy night, 

The spirits pure, the slumbers light, 

. That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas, regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play! 

No sense have they of ills to come, 

No care beyond to-day. 

Yet see how, all around them, wait 
The ministers of human fate, 


228 


BRITISH PORTS. 


[part VI, 


And black misfortune’s baneful tram; 

Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 

To seize their prey, the murderous band ! 

Ah. tell them they are men ! 

♦ * * * * * 

To each his sufferings: all are men, 

Condemn’d alike to groan ; 

The tender, for another’s pain, 

The unfeeling, for his own. 

Yet ah, why should they know their fate 1 
Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies, 

Thought would destroy their paradise. 

No more; where ignorance is bliss 
’Tis folly to be wise. 

AN ELEGY WRITTEN IN A CHURCH-YARD. 

* * * * * 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 

The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 

The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed 
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 

Nor children run to lisp their sire’s return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

* * * * * 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
The dark, unfathom’d caves of ocean bear; 

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
***** 

Fair laughs the morn and soft the zephyr blows. 

While, proudly riding o’er the azure realm, 

In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 

Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm; 

Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind’s sway, 

That, hush’d in grim repose, expects his evening prey. 

The Bard. 

It would be idle to descant on the diction or imagery 
of verses like these. We will only advert to the pro¬ 
phetic intimation of the catastrophe in the last clause. 
Had the poet described the tempest itself with the 


BRITISH POETS. 


229 


PART VI.] 

power of Virgil in the first book of his iEneid,it would 
have failed in this instance to produce the effect of 
sublime and ineffable horror, of which a glimpse ap¬ 
pears in the background, while the gallant vessel is 
sailing with wind, and tide, and sunshine, on a sea of 
glory. All the sweeping fury of the whirlwind, awake 
and ravening over “ his evening prey,” w r ould have 
been less terrible than his “ grim reposeand the 
shrieks and struggles of drowning mariners less affect¬ 
ing than the sight of 

“ Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm,” 
“regardless” of the inevitable doom on which they 
were already verging. 

SECTION VIII. 

JAMES BEATTIE (1736-1803), 

a native of Scotland, was the last of those who can 
properly be placed in the first order of the poets of 
this time. In 1771, while professor of moral philos¬ 
ophy at Aberdeen, he published his celebrated poem, 
The Minstrel , which describes, in the stanza of Spen¬ 
ser, the progress of the imagination and feelings of a 
young and rustic poet. Beattie also wrote several 
philosophical and controversial works, which attract¬ 
ed considerable attention in their day. His poetry is 
characterized by a peculiar meditative pathos. 

The contemplation of the works of Nature is rec¬ 
ommended in the following stanzas : 

****** 

IX. 

Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! 

The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 

The pomp of groves and garniture of fields; 

All that the genial ray of morning gilds, 

And all that echoes to the song of even, 

All that the mountain’s sheltering bosom shields, 

And all the dread magnificence of heaven— 

0 how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven! 

x. 

These charms shall work thy soul’s eternal health, 

And love and gentleness, and joy impart; 


230 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth 
E’er win its way to thy corrupted heart; 

For, ah ! it poisons like a scorpion’s dart; 

Prompting th’ ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme, 

The stern resolve, unmoved by pity’s smart; 

The troublous day, and long distressful dream. 
****** 

SECTION IX. 

THOMSON (1700-1748). 

The Seasons. 

He has been justly called the great painter of Na¬ 
ture’s scenery and Nature’s joys. His chief merit 
consisted in describing her, and the pleasure afforded 
by a contemplation of her infinite and glorious varie¬ 
ties. “ Touched by his more than magic pencil, eve¬ 
ry thing around us lives, and breathes, and speaks— 
speaks forth its Creator’s praise: the little hills re¬ 
joice on every side ; the trees of the fields clap their 
hands, and all creation joins in one general song.” 

He excelled in delineating, not the strong and bois¬ 
terous passions of the human heart, but its gentler 
emotions and more pleasing traits. Of himself he 
says: 

“ I solitary court 

The inspiring breeze, and meditate the book 
Of Nature, ever open; aiming thence, 

Warm from the heart, to pour the moral song.” 

The “Seasons” are the most read and generally 
admired of his works, yet not without its faults. 
The language is sometimes inflated—style sometimes 
monotonous, but from continued elevation. The di¬ 
gressions have been objected to as blemishes, but by 
others have been approved and admired as essential 
to the highest merit of the poem. 

Some have pronounced his “ Castle of Indolence” 
altogether superior to the “ Seasons.” It was de¬ 
signed as a satire upon his own indolent character, 
and an incentive to the young to put forth vigorous 
exertions. 

Several tablets were erected to his memory, con¬ 
taining beautiful inscriptions. Beneath one of these 


BRITISH POETS. 


231 


PART VI.] 

was written this beautiful passage from the season 
of Winter: 

“ Father of Light and Life ! Thou good Supreme! 

O teach me what is good ! teach me thyself; 

Save me from folly, vanity, and vice, 

From every low pursuit! and feed my soul 
With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure, 
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss!” 

His great work, “ The Seasons,” with a few pre 
cepts intermingled, presents, in beautiful series and 
harmonious connection, the phenomena of nature and 
the operations of man contemporary with these, 
through the four seasons; forming, in fact, a biograph¬ 
ical memoir of the infancy, maturity, and old age of an 
English year. Thus beautifully has Montgomery de¬ 
scribed it. 

A short characteristic specimen of Thomson was 
given in the chapter on Personification. Other speci¬ 
mens will be found in the following section: 

Some characteristic traits of Thomson and Cowper are 
given by Hazlitt, as follows : 

“ Thomson, the kind-hearted Thomson, was the most in¬ 
dolent of mortals, and of poets. His faults are, that he is 
often affected through carelessness, and pompous from un¬ 
suspecting simplicity of character. He seldom writes a 
good line but he makes up for it by a bad one. Cowper has 
surpassed him in the picturesque part of his art, in marking 
the peculiar features and curious details of objects ; no one 
has yet come up to him in giving the sum total of their ef¬ 
fects, their varying influences on the mind. He does not 
go into the minutice of a landscape, but describes the vivid 
impression which the whole makes upon his own imagina¬ 
tion ; and thus transfers the same unbroken, unimpaired im¬ 
pression to the imagination of his readers. He describes, 
not to the eye alone, but to the other senses, and to the 
whole man. He puts his heart into his subject, writes as 
he feels, and humanizes whatever he touches. He makes 
all his descriptions teem with life. His blank verse is not 
harsh, nor utterly untunable ; but it is heavy and monoto¬ 
nous ; it seems always laboring up hill. 

“ If Cowper had a more polished taste, Thomson had, 
beyond comparison, a more fertile genius, more impulsive 
force, a more entire forgetfulness of himself in his subject. 


232 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

If in Thomson you are sometimes offended with the slovenli¬ 
ness of the author by profession, determined to get through 
his task at all events ; in Cowper you are no less dissatis¬ 
fied with the finicalness of the private gentleman, who does 
not care whether he completes his work or not; and in 
whatever he does, is evidently more solicitous to please him¬ 
self than the public. He shakes hands with nature with a 
pair of fashionable gloves on. He had neither Thomson’s 
love of the unadorned beauties of nature, nor Pope’s exqui¬ 
site sense of the elegances of art. Still he is a genuine 
poet, and deserves all his reputation. His worst faults are 
amiable weaknesses, elegant trifling. He has left a number 
of pictures of domestic comfort and social refinement, as 
well as of natural imagery and feeling, which can hardly be 
forgotten but with the language itself. His satire is also 
excellent. It is pointed and forcible, with the polished 
manners of the gentleman, and the honest indignation of the 
virtuous man. His religious poetry wants elevation and 
fire. His story of John Gilpin has, perhaps, given as much 
pleasure to as many people as any thing of the same length 
that ever was written.” 


SECTION X. 

COWPER. 

The Task. 

He is one of the most instructive and pleasing of 
English poets, and is decidedly one of the best speci¬ 
mens of an easy and graceful epistolary style. His 
most admired poem is the Task , some parts of which 
are inimitably good, but there are others rather trifling. 
“ His language,” says Campbell, “ has such a mascu 
line, idiomatic strength, and his manner, whether he 
rises into grace or falls into negligence, has so much 
plain and familiar freedom, that we read no poetry 
with a deeper conviction of its sentiments having, 
come from the author’s heart.” He is distinguished 
for a rich and chastened humor in most of his writ¬ 
ings, though at times he was the victim of most lam¬ 
entable melancholy. In the description of the quiet 
pleasures of domestic life, he much excels, as may 
be seen in the fourth book of the Task. He is the 
author of many other poems, and of some admirable 


BRITISH POETS. 


PART VI.] 


233 


hymns in constant use at the present day. As a 
specimen of his poetry, read the following: 

THE INFIDEL AND THE CHRISTIAN. 

“ The path to bliss abounds with many a snare; 

Learning is one, and wit, however rare. 

The Frenchman, first in literary fame 

(Mention him, if you please. Voltaire ? The same), 

With spirit, genius, eloquence supplied, 

Lived long, wrote much, laugh’d heartily, and died. 

The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew 
Bon-mots to gall the Christian and the Jew; 

An infidel in health, but what when sick ? 

Oh—then a text would touch him at the quick: 

View him at Paris, in his last career, 

Surrounding throngs the demi-god revere; 

Exalted on his pedestal of pride, 

And fumed with frankincense on every side, 

He begs their flattery with his latest breath, 

And smother’d in’t at last, is praised to death. 

Yon cottager, who weaves, at her own door, 

Pillow and bobbins, all her little store; 

Content, though mean, and cheerful, if not gay. 

Shuffling her thread about the livelong day, 

Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light: 

She, for her humble sphere by nature fit, 

Has little understanding, and no wit, 

Receives no praise ; but though her lot be such 
(Toilsome and indigent), she renders much: 

Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true, 

A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew; 

And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes 
Her title to a treasure in the skies. 

“ O happy peasant! O unhappy bard! 

His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward ; 

He praised, perhaps, for ages yet to come, 

She never heard of half a mile from home; 

He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, 

She safe in the simplicity of hers.” 

The charm of Cowper’s poetry is a pure, innocent, 
lovely mind, delighting itself in pure, innocent, and 
lovely nature: the freshness of the fields, the fra¬ 
grance of the flowers, breathes in his verse. 

% 

THOMSON AND COWPER COMPARED. , 

Thomson’s genius, says Professor Wilson, does not — 
U 2 


234 BRITISH POETS. [PART VI. 

very, very often—though often—delight us by exquisite mi¬ 
nute touches in the description of nature—like that of Cow- 
per. It loves to paint on a great scale, and to dash objects 
off sweepingly by bold strokes — such, indeed, as have al¬ 
most always marked the genius of the mighty masters of the 
lyre and the rainbow. Cowper sets nature before your eyes 
—Thomson before your imagination. Which do you pre¬ 
fer! Both. In one mood of mind, we love Cowper best; 
in another, Thomson. Sometimes the Seasons are almost 
a Task , and sometimes the Task is out of Season. There 
is a delightful distinctness in all the pictures of the Bard of 
Olney—glorious gloom or glimmer in most of those of the 
Bard of Ednam. Cowper paints trees—Thomson, woods. 
Thomson paints, in a few wondrous lines, rivers from source 
to sea, like the mighty Barampooter—Cowper, in many no 
very wondrous lines, brightens up one bend of a stream, or 
awakens our fancy to the murmur of some single'waterfall. 
But a truce to antithesis — a deceptive style of criticism—• 
and see how Thomson sings of snow. Why, in the follow¬ 
ing lines, almost—though not quite—as well as Christopher 
North (Professor Wilson), in his Winter Rhapsody 

li The cherish’d fields 
Put on their tender robe of purest white,' 

’Tis brightness all; save where the new snow melts 
Along the mazy current.” 

Nothing can be more vivid. There are passages, nowever, 
in which Thomson, striving to be pathetic, has overshot the 
mark, and ceased to be natural. Thus : 

“ The bleating kine 

Eye the bleak heaven, and next the glittering earth 
With looks of dumb despair .” 

The second line is perfect, but the third is not quite right. 
Sheep do not deliver themselves up to despair under any 
circumstances ; and here Thomson transferred what would 
have been his own feelings in a corresponding condition, to 
animals who dreadlessly follow their instincts. Thomson 
redeems himself in what succeeds : 

“ Then sad dispersed, 

Dig for the wither’d herb through heaps of snow.” 

For, as they disperse, they do look very sad—and, no doubt, 
are so — but had they been in despair, they would not so 
readily, and constantly, and uniformly, and successfully 
have taken to digging—but whole flocks had perished. 


BRITISH POETS. 


235 


PART VI.] 

But here is a passage which will live forever—in which 
not one word could be altered for the better—not one omit¬ 
ted but for the worse—not one added that would not be su¬ 
perfluous—a passage that proves that fiction is not the soul 
of poetry, but truth—but, then, such truth as was never 
spoken before on the same subject—such truth, as shows 
that, w r hile Thomson was a person of the strictest veracity, 
yet was he very far indeed from being a matter-of-fact man : 

A MAN PERISHING IN THE SNOW. 

“ As thus the snows arise, and foul and fierce 
All winter drives along the darken’d air. 

In his own loose-revolving field the swain 
Disaster’d stands ; sees other hills ascend, 

Of unknown, joyless brow ; and other scenes, 

Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain; 

Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
Beneath the formless wild; but wanders on, 

From hill to dale, still more and more astray, 

Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 

Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home 
Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth 
In many a vain attempt. 

How sinks his soul! 

What black despair, what horror fills his heart! 

When, for the dusky spot, which fancy feign’d 
His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 

He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 

Far from the track and bless'd abode of man ; 

While round him night resistless closes fast, 

And ev’ry tempest howling o’er his head 
Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 

Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 
Of cover’d pits, unfathomably deep, 

A dire descent, beyond the pow’r of frost! 

Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 

Smooth’d up with snow; and what is land unknown, 

What water, of the still unfrozen spring, 

In the loose marsh or solitary lake, 

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 

These check his fearful steps, and down he sinks 
Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift, 

Thinking o’er all the bitterness of death, 

Mix’d with the tender anguish nature shoots 
Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, 

His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 

In vain for him th’ officious wife prepares 
The fire fair-blazing and the vestment warm; 

In vain his little children, peeping out 


236 


BRITISH POETS 


[part VI 


Into the mingled storm, demand their sire, 

With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 

Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold 
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve 
The deadly winter seizes, shuts up sense, 

And, o’er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 

Lays him along the snows a stiffen’d corse.” 

SECTION XI. 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH ( 1728 - 1774 ). 

“ The Traveler” and “ The Deserted Village” are 
beautiful descriptive poems. The latter is said to con¬ 
tain some of the happiest pictures of rural life and 
character in the English language. His “ Vicar of 
Wakefield,” a prose tale, is also much admired. 

The following extracts are from the “ Deserted 
Village :” 

“ Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening’s close, 

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 

There, as I pass’d with careless steps and slow, 

The mingled notes came soften’d from below ; 

The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung; 

The sober herd that low’d to meet their young; 

The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool; 

The playful children just let loose from school; 

The watch-dog’s voice that bay’d the whispering wind. 

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: 

These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 

And fill’d each pause the nightingale had made.” 
****** 

THE COUNTRY SCHOOLMASTER. 

“ Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 

With blossom’d furze unprofitably gay, 

There, in his noisy mansion, skill’d to rule, 

The village master taught his little school; 
***** 

The village all declared how much he knew; 

’Twas certain he could write and cipher too; 

Lands he could measure, times and tides presage ; 

And e’en the story ran that he could gauge : 

In arguing, too, the parson own’d his skill, 

For, e’en though vanquish’d, he could argue still; 

While words of learned length, and thundering sound. 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 

And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

That one small head could carry all he knew. 

But pass’d is all his fame ; the very spot 
Where many a time he triumph’d, is forgot..” 


BRITISH POETS 


237 


TART VI.] 

Another, more humorous example, was given in 
part iii., chap. xv. 

SECTION XII. 

GEORGE CRABBE. 

His powers of imagination are not uncommon, but 
he possessed a talent for making accurate and minute 
observations on the realities of life. The moral ten¬ 
dency of his writings is good. His portraits are 
mostly from humble life—exhibiting virtues as well 
as vices. 

Crabbe, if not the most natural, is, in the opinion of Haz- 
litt, the most literal of descriptive poets. He exhibits the 
smallest circumstances of the smallest things—the non-es¬ 
sentials of every trifling incident. He describes the interior 
of a cottage like a person sent there to distrain for rent. 
You know the Christian and surnames of every one of his 
heroes—the dates of their achievements, whether on a Sun¬ 
day or a Monday—their place of birth and burial, the color 
of their clothes and of their hair, and whether they squinted 
or not. He takes an inventory of the human heart exactly 
in the same manner as of the furniture of a sick room ; his 
sentiments have very much the air of fixtures; he gives you 
the petrifaction of a sigh, and carves a tear, to the life, in 
stone. Almost all his characters are tired of their lives, and 
you heartily wish them dead. Crabbe’s poetry is like a mu 
seum or a curiosity-shop: every thing has the same posthu¬ 
mous appearance, the same inanimateness and identity of 
character. He seems to rely, for the delight he is to convey 
to his reader, on the truth and accuracy with which he de¬ 
scribes only what is disagreeable. 

SECTION XIII. 

SAMUEL ROGERS. 

Distinguished for a melodious flow of verse, a hap¬ 
py choice of expression, a power of touching the finer 
feelings, and of describing mental as well as visible 
objects with effect. It is thought by some that the 
English language does not afford a more finished com¬ 
position, in regard to language, than the “ Pleasures of 
Memory.” Upon his poems he bestowed the greatest 


‘238 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 

labor and cultivation. “ Italy” is another fine poem 
as you may learn from the extract here appended: 

ROME. 

“ I am in Rome ! Oft as the morning ray 
Visits these eyes, waking at once, I cry, 

Whence this excess of joy ? What has befallen me ? 

And from within a thrilling voice replies, 

Thou art in Rome ! A thousand busy thoughts 
Rush on my mind, a thousand images; 

And I spring up as girt to run a race! 
*.***•*--#- 

Thou art in Rome ! the city that so long 
Reign’d absolute, the mistress of the world; 

The mighty vision that the prophets saw, 

And trembled. 

****** 

Thou art in Rome ! the city where the Gauls, 
Entering, at sunrise, through her open gates, 

And, through her streets silent and desolate, 

Marching to slay, thought they saw gods, not men; 

The city that, by temperance, fortitude, 

And love of glory, tower’d above the clouds, 

Then fell—but falling, kept the highest seat, 

And in her loneliness, her pomp of wo, 

Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild, 

Still o’er the mind maintains, from age to age, 

Her empire undiminish’d. 
****** 

And I am there ! 

Ah, little thought I, when in school I sat, 

A schoolboy on his bench, at early dawn 
Glowing with Roman story, I should live 
To tread the Appian, once an avenue 
Of monuments most glorious, palaces, 

Their doors seal’d up and silent as the night, 

The dwellings of the illustrious dead—to turn 
Toward Tiber, and, beyond the city gate, 

Pour out my unpremeditated verse, 

Where, on his mule, I might have met so oft 
Horace himself—or climb the Palatine, 

Dreaming of old Evander and his guest, 

Dreaming and lost on that proud eminence, 

Long while the seat of Rome, hereafter found 
Less than enough (so monstrous was the brood 
Engender’d there, so Titan-like) to lodge 
One* in his madness ; and, the summit gain’d, 

Inscribe my name on some broad aloe-leaf, 

* Nero. 


PART VI.] BRITISH POETS. 239 

That shoots and spreads within those very walls 
Where Virgil read aloud his tale divine, 

Where his voice falter’d, and a mother wept 
Tears of delight!” 

SECTION XIV. 

THOMAS CAMPBELL ( 1777 - 1844 ). 

To the suggestion and eloquent advocacy of this 
distinguished man the London University is said to 
have owed its origin. 

“ The Pleasures of Hope” is a splendid poem. “ It? 
polish is exquisite, its topics felicitously chosen, and 
its illustrations natural and beautiful. He lifts you 
up to an exceedingly high mountain, and you see all 
nature in her loveliness, and man in the truth of his 
character, with hope irradiating, cheering, and sus¬ 
taining him in the numerous ills of life. ‘ Gertrude 
of Wyoming’ is preferred by some readers even to 
his £ Pleasures of Hope.’ It is a sad tale, told with 
tenderness as well as genius. But if these had never 
been written, his songs would have given him claims 
as a first-rate poet. They cover sea and land. Their 
spirit stirs the brave, whatever may be their field of 
fame ; whether the snow is to be their winding-sheet, 
or the deep their grave. National songs are of the 
most difficult production and of the highest value. 
They are the soul of national feeling and a safeguard 
of national honor.”—(See Knapp’s Pursuits of Litera¬ 
ture.) 

Of “ The Pleasures of Hope,” “ the music,” says 
Professor Wilson, “ now deepens into a majestic 
march—now it swells into a holy hymn—and now it 
dies away, elegiac-like, as if mourning over a tomb; 
never else than beautiful, and ever and anon, we know 
not why, sublime. As for Gertrude of Wyoming, we 
love her as if she were our only daughter—filling our 
life with bliss, and then leaving it desolate. Never 
saw we a ship till Campbell indited ‘ Ye Mariners 
of England.’ Sheer hulks before our eyes were all 
ships till that strain arose, but ever since in our imag¬ 
ination hav« they brightened the roaring ocean.” 


240 


BRITISH POETS. 


[PART VI. 

STANZAS ON THE THREATENED INVASION, 1803. 

Our bosoms we’ll bare for the glorious strife, 

And our oath is recorded on high, 

To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life, 

Or crush’d in its ruin to die ! 

Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right har.d, 

And swear to prevail in your dear native land! 

’Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust— 

God bless the green isle of the brave ! 

Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers’ dust, 

It would rouse the old dead from their grave ! 

Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand, 

And swear to prevail in your dear native land! 

* * * ■* * * 

ON REVISITING A SCOTTISH RIVER. 

And call they this improvement ? to have changed 
My native Clyde, thy once romantic shore, 

Where nature’s face is banish’d and estranged, 

And Heaven reflected in thy wave no more: 

Whose banks, that sweeten’d May-day’s breath before, 

Lie sere and leafless now in summer’s beam, 

• With sooty exhalations cover’d o’er; 

And for the daisied green-sward, down thy stream 
Unsightly brick-lanes smoke, and clanking engines gleam. 
Speak not to me of swarms the scene sustains ; 

One heart free tasting Nature’s breath and bloom 
Is worth a thousand slaves to Mammon’s gains. 

But whither goes that wealth, and gladd’ning whom ? 

See, left but life enough, and breathing-room 
The hunger and the hope of life to feel,* 

Yon pale Mechanic bending o’er his loom, 

And Childhood’s sel f, as at Ixion’s wheel, 

From morn till midnight task’d to earn its little meal. 

Is this improvement ? where the human breed 
Degenerates as they swarm and overflow, 

Till Toil grows cheaper than the trodden weed, 

And man competes with man, like foe with foe, 

Till Death, that thins them, scarce seems public wo ? 
Improvement! Smiles it in the poor man’s eyes, 

Or blooms it on the cheek of Labor? No— 

To gorge a few with Trade’s precarious prize, 

We banish rural life, and breathe unwholesome skies. 
****** 

Rogers and Campbell are thus described by Hazlitt : 
Rogers is a very lady-like poet. He is an elegant, but a 
feeble writer. He wraps up obvious thoughts in a glitter¬ 
ing cover of fine words ; is studiously inverted and scrupu- 


BRITISH POETS. 


241 


PART VI.] 

lously far-fetched; and his verses are poetry, chiefly be¬ 
cause no particle, line, or syllable of them reads like prose. 
You can not see the thought for the ambiguity of the lan¬ 
guage, the figure for the finery, the picture for the varnish. 

Campbell’s Pleasures of Hope is of the same school, in 
which' a painful attention is paid to the expression, in pro¬ 
portion as there is little to express, and the decomposition 
of prose is substituted for the composition of poetry. He 
too often maims and mangles his ideas before they are full 
formed, to form them to the Procrustes’ bed of criticism; 
or strangles his intellectual offspring in the birth, lest they 
should come to an untimely end in the Edinburgh Review. 
No writer who thinks habitually of the critics, either to 
tremble at their censures or set them at defiance, can write 
well. In his Gertrude, the structure of the fable is too me¬ 
chanical. The story is cut into the form of a parallelo¬ 
gram. 

SECTION XV. 

MARK AKENSIDE (\ 721 - 1770 ). 

His “ Pleasures of the Imagination” is deservedly 
celebrated. The following is an extract: 

* * * * * * 

“ Different minds 

Incline to different objects: one pursues 
The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 

Another sighs for harmony, and grace, 

And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires 
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground, 

When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air, 

And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed, 

Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky; 

Amid the mighty uproar, while below 
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad 
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys 
The elemental war ; but Waller longs, 

All on the margin of some flowery stream, 

To spread his careless limbs, amid the cool 
Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer 
The tale of slighted vows, and love’s disdain 
Resound soft-warbling all the livelong day. 
***** 

Such and so various are the tastes of men! 

Oh bless’d of Heaven ! whom not the languid songs 
Of Luxury, the Siren; not the bribes 
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 
Of pageant Honor, can seduce to leave 
X 


9,42 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
Of Nature fair Imagination culls 
To charm the enliven’d soul!” 

* * * * * 

SECTION XVI. 

SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE 

\s another author about whom a great diversity of 
opinion exists. He is thought to stand at the head of 
what has been called the Lake School of poetry, in 
respect to feeling, fancy, and sublimity. His original 
powers of imagination and expression are considered 
by some to be among the highest that have been 
known in the present age; but his undue devotion to 
metaphysics and German literature has rendered much 
of his poetry turgid in diction, and incomprehensi¬ 
ble to all but those initiated into his abstruse views 
Many of his numerous prose compositions are equal]}' 
obscure. What he says himself of one of his poems, 
will be considered by most intelligent readers as ap¬ 
plicable to large portions of not a few of his other 
waitings : 

“ Your poem must eternal be— 

Dear, sir, it can not fail, 

For ’tis incomprehensible, 

And without head or tail” 

Professor Frost seems to have not misrepresented Mr. 
C. in the sketch that follows : 

“ The chief fault of Coleridge’s poetry lies in the style, 
which has been justly objected to on account of its obscuri¬ 
ty, general turgidness of diction, and a profusion of new- 
coined double epithets. With regard to its obscurity he 
says, in the preface to a late edition of his poems, that 
where he appears unintelligible, ‘the deficiency is in the 
reader.’ This is nothing more nor less than to suppose his 
readers endowed with the powers of divination ; for we defy 
any one who is not in the confidence of the author upon 
this subject to solve the riddle which is appended as a con¬ 
clusion to Christabel. He might as well attribute a defi¬ 
ciency of capacity to a beholder of his countenance who 
should fail, in its workings, to discover the exact emotions 
of his mind; for Mr. Coleridge lias afforded no clearer clew 
to the generality of his poetical arcana.” 


BRITISH POETS. 


243 


P.ART VI.] 

The notoriety which Coleridge has attained will 
justify the author in extending this notice, by quoting 
from the splendid criticism of Professor Wilson, who 
seems to have been a great admirer of Coleridge, not¬ 
withstanding his obscurities. Indeed, he seems to 
represent these as not detracting from the glory of his 
Idol: 

“ The sun, you know, does not always show his orb even 
in the daytime ; and people are often ignorant of his place 
in the firmament. But he .keeps shining away at his leis¬ 
ure, as you would know were he to suffer eclipse. Perhaps 
he—the sun—is at no other time a more delightful lumina¬ 
ry than when he is pleased to dispense his influence through 
a general haze or mist—softening all the day till meridian 
is almost like the afternoon, and the grove anticipating 
gloaming (gloom), bursts into ‘ dance and minstrelsy’ ere the 
god go down into the sea. Clouds, too, become him well— 
whether thin, and fleecy, and braided, or piled up all round 
about him, castle-wise and cathedral fashion, to say nothing 
of temples and other metropolitan structures ; nor is it rea¬ 
sonable to find fault with him, when, as naked as the hour 
he was born, 'he flames on the forehead of the morning 
sky.’ The grandeur, too, of his appearance on setting has 
become quite proverbial. Now in all this he resembles 
Coleridge. It is easy to talk—not very difficult to speechi¬ 
fy—hard to speak; but to ‘ discourse’ is a gift rarely be¬ 
stowed by Heaven on mortal man. Coleridge has it in per¬ 
fection. While he is discoursing, the world loses all its 
commonplaces, and you and your wife imagine yourselves 
Adam and Eve listening to the affable archangel Raphael in 
the garden of Eden. You would no more dream of wishing 
him to be mute for a while, than you would a river that ‘ im¬ 
poses silence with a stilly sound.’ Whether you understand 
two consecutive sentences we shall not stop too curiously to 
inquire; but you do something better, youfeel the whole just 
like any other divine music ; and ’tis your own fault if you 
do not 

‘ A wiser and a better man arise to-morrow’s mom.’ 

“Nor are we now using any exaggeration ; for if you will 
but think how unutterably dull are all the ordinary sayings 
and doings of this life, spent as it is with ordinary people, 
you may imagine how, in sweet delirium, you may be robbed 
of yourself by a seraphic tongue that has fed, since first it 


244 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

lisped, on ‘ honey dews/ and by lips that have ‘ breathed 
the air of Paradise,’ and learned a seraphic language, which, 
all the while that it is English, is as grand as Greek, and as 
soft as Italian. We only know this, that Coleridge is the 
alchemist that in his crucible melts down hours to mo¬ 
ments—and lo ! diamonds sprinkled on a plate of gold.” 

“What a world would this be were all its inhabitants to 
fiddle like Paganini, discourse like Coleridge, and do every 
thing else in a style of equal perfection 1 But, pray, how 
does the man write poetry with a pen upon paper, who thus 
is perpetually pouring it from his inspired lips 1 Read the 
Ancient Mariner, the Nightingale, and Genevieve. In the 
first, you shudder at the superstition of the sea; in the sec¬ 
ond, you slumber in the melodies of the woods; in the third, 
earth is like heaven.” 

The following Epigrams are not difficult to be un 
derstood and appreciated ; they display genuine wit 

“ There comes from Avaro’s grave 
A deadly stench—why, sure, they have 
Immured his soul within his grave !” 

“ Sly Beelzebub took all occasions 
To try Job’s constancy and patience. 

He took his honor, took his health ; 

He took his children, took his wealth 
His servants, oxen, horses, cows, 

But cunning Satan did not take his spouse. 

“ But Heaven, that brings out good from evil, 

And loves to disappoint the devil, 

Had predetermined to restore 
Twofold all he had before ; 

His servants, horses, oxen, cows— 

Short-sighted devil, not to take his spouse 

“ Last Monday all the papers said, 

That Mr.-was dead ; 

Why, then, what said the city ? 

The tenth part sadly shook their heads, 

And shaking, sigh’d, and sighing, said, 

‘ Pity, indeed, *tis pity !’ 

“ But when the said report was found 
A rumor wholly without ground, 

Why, then, what said the city ? 

The other nine parts shook their heads 
Repeating what the tenth had said— 

‘Pity, indeed, ’tis pity!’ ” 


PART VI.] 


BRITISH POETS. 


245 


SECTION XYII. 

ROBERT SOUTHEY ( 1774 - 1844 ) 

is another poet of the Lake School, who has acquired a 
just celebrity—more, in late years, however, for his 
prose than his poetry. In the opinion of S. C. Hall, 
“ No poet, in the present or past century, has written 
three such poems as Thaliba, Kehama, and Roderic. 
Others have more excelled in delineating what they 
find before them in life; but none have given such 
proofs of extraordinary power in creating. He has 
been called diffuse, because there is a spaciousness 
and amplitude about his poetry—as if concentration 
was the highest quality of a writer. He excels in 
unity of design and congruity of character; and never 
did poet more adequately express heroic fortitude and 
generous affections. He has not, however, limited 
his pen to grand paintings of Epic character. Among 
his shorter productions, are found some light and 
graceful sketches, full of beauty and feeling, and not 
the less valuable because they invariably aim at pro¬ 
moting virtue.” 

Southey, among all our living poets, says Professor Wil¬ 
son, stands aloof, and “alone in his glory.” For he alone 
of them all has adventured to illustrate, in poems of magni¬ 
tude, the different characters, customs, and manners of na¬ 
tions. Joan of Arc is an English and French story—Thal¬ 
iba, an Arabian one — Kehama is Indian—Madoc, Welsh 
and American — and Roderic, Spanish and Moorish : nor 
would it be easy to say (setting aside the first, which was 
a very youthful work) in which of these noble poems Mr. 
Southey has most successfully performed an achievement 
entirely beyond the power of any but the highest genius. 
In Madoc, and especially in Roderic, he has relied on the 
truth of Nature—as it is seen in the history of great nation¬ 
al transactions,and events. In Thaliba and Kehama, though 
in them, too, he has brought to bear an almost boundless 
lore, he follows the leading of fancy and imagination, and 
walks in a world of wonders. Seldom, if ever, has one and 
the same poet exhibited such power in such different kinds 
of poetry, in truth a master, and in fiction a magician. Of 
all these poems, the conception and fhe execution are orig¬ 
inal ; in much faulty, and imperfect both, but bearing through- 


BRITISH POETS. 


246 


[part VI. 


out the impress of highest genius, and breathing a moral 
charm, in the midst of the wildest, and sometimes even ex¬ 
travagant imaginings, that shall preserve them forever from 
oblivion, and embalm them in the spirit of love and of de¬ 
light. 

The following specimens, of this class, are written in a 
familiar style,' and display strong inventive genius, making 
much out of little—educing useful reflections from objects 
in themselves worthless: 

TO A SPIDER. 

“ Spider! thou need’st not run in fear about 
To shun my curious eyes, 

I won’t humanely crush thy bowels out, 

Lest thou shouldst eat the flies, 

Nor will I roast thee with a fierce delight 
Thy strange instinctive fortitude to see, 

For there is one who might 
One day roast me. 

“ Thou’rt welcome to a Rhymer sore perplex’d, 

The subject of his verse : 

There’s many a one who on a better text 
Perhaps might comment worse: 

Then shrink not, old Free-mason, from my view, 

But quietly, like me, spin out the line; 

Do thou thy work pursue, 

As I will mine. 

“ Weaver of snares, thou emblemest the ways 
Of Satan, sire of lies ; 

Hell’s huge black spider, for mankind he lays 
His toils as thou for flies. 

When Betty’s busy eye runs round the room, 

Wo to that nice geometry if seen ! 

But where is he whose broom 
The earth shall clean ? 

“ Spider! of old thy flimsy webs were thought, 

And ’twas a likeness true, 

To emblem laws in which the weak are caught, 

But which the strong break through; 

And if a victim in thy toils is ta’en, 

Like some poor client is that wretched fly, 

I’ll warrafit thee thou’lt drain 
His life-blood dry. 

“ And is not thy weak work like human schemes 
And care on earth employ’d ? 

Such are young hopes and Love’s delightful dreams, 

So easily destroy’d' 1 


BRITISH POETS. 


247 


PART VI.] 


So does the Statesman, while the avengers sleep, 
Self-deem’d secure, his wiles in secret lay; 

Soon shall destruction sweep 
His work away. 

“ Thou busy laborer ! one resemblance more 
Shall yet the verse prolong, 

For, Spider, thou art like the Poet poor, 

Whom thou hast help’d in song: 

Both busily our needful food to win, 

We work, as Nature taught, with ceaseless pains, 
Thy bowels thou dost spin, 

I spin my brains.” 

THE FILBERT. 

Nay, gather not that Filbert, Nicholas : 

There is a maggot there ; it is his house, 

His castle; oh, commit not burglary! 

Strip him not naked ! ’tis Iris clothes, his shell, 

His bones, the case and armor of his life, 

And thou shalt do no murder, Nicholas ! 

It were an easy thing to crack that nut. 

Or wifh thy crackers or thy double teeth, 

So easily may all things be destroy’d ! 

But ’tis not in the power of mortal man 
To mend the fracture of a filbert shelL 
Enough of dangers and of enemies 
Hath Nature’s wisdom for the world ordain’d ; 

Increase not thou the number ! Him the mouse, 
Gnawing with nibbling tooth the shell’s defense, 

May from his native tenement eject; 

Him may the nut-hatch, piercing with strong bill. 
Unwittingly destroy ; or to his hoard 
The squirrel bear, at leisure to be crack’d. 

Man also hath his dangers and his foes 
As this poor maggot bath; and when I muse 
Upon the aches, anxieties, and fears, 

The maggot knows not, Nicholas, methinks 
it were a happy metamorphosis 
To be enkenel’d thus; never to hear 
Of wars, and of invasions, and of plots, 

Kings, Jacobins, and tax-commissioners; 

To feel no motion but the wind that shook 
Thq filbert-tree and rock’d us to our rest; 

And in the middle of such exquisite food 
To live luxurious ! The perfection this 
Of snugness ! it were to unite at once 
Hermit retirement, aldermanic bliss. 

And stoic independence of mankind.” 


248 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI, 


SECTION XVIII. 

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 

The Moravian Hymns are said to have led his mind 
into the culture of poetry. His chief characteristics 
are purity and elevation of thought, harmonious versi¬ 
fication, and a fine strain of devotional feeling. His 
poems can not be too highly commended to the fre¬ 
quent perusal of the young. The variety of subject 
adds much to the interest of his works. 

THE GRAVE. 

“ There is a calm for those who weep, 

A rest for weary pilgrim’s found, 

They softly lie and sweetly sleep 

Low in the ground. 

The storm that wrecks the winter sky 
No more disturbs their deep repose, 

Than summer evening’s latest sigh 
That shuts the rose. 

I long to lay this painful head 
And aching’ heart beneath the soil, 

To slumber in that dreamless bed 
From all my toil. 

For misery stole me at my birth, 

And cast me helpless on the wild: 

I perish; O my mother earth, 

Take home thy child. 

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined, 

Shall gently moulder into thee: 

Nor leave one wretched trace behind 
Resembling me. 

******* 

There is a calm for those who weep, 

A rest for weary pilgrims found; 

And while the mould’ring ashes sleep 
Low in the ground, 

The soul, of origin divine, 

God’s glorious image, freed from clay, 

In heaven’s eternal sphere shall shine 
A star of day.” 

* * * * 

We hope to receive the thanks of young ladies who 
intend to provide themselves with an Album, that so¬ 
cial and literary luxury, for inserting here a collection 
of admirable mottoes, from the versatile and vigorous 


BRITISH POETS. 


249 


PART VI.] 

pen of the fine poet now under review. Some may 
need to be informed, that the term Album is derived 
from a Latin word, signifying ivhite, and is therefore 
applied usually to an elegant blank book, in which we 
request our friends to write something as a memorial 
of themselves. This explanation may be necessary to 
some, for understanding the second motto below, and 
also, the sixth. 

MOTTOES FOR ALBUMS. 

I. 

Mind is invisible, but you may find 
A method here to let me see your mind. 
ii. 

Behold my Album unbegun, 

Which when ’tis finish’d will be none. 

hi. 

Faint lines, on brittle glass and clear, 

A diamond pen may trace with art: 

But what the feeblest hand writes here, 

Is graven on the owner’s heart. 

IV. 

May all the names recorded here 
In the Lamb’s book of life appear. 

v. 

Here friends assemble* hand and heart; 

Whom life may sever, death must part; 

Sweet be their deaths, their lives well spent, 

And this their friendship’s monument. 

VI. 

My Album is a barren tree, 

Where leaves and only leaves you see : 

But touch it—flowers and fruits will spring, 

And birds among the foliage sing. 

VII. 

Fairies were kind to country jennies, 

And in their shoes dropp’d silver pennies; 

Here the bright tokens which you leave, 

As fairy favors I receive. 

VIII. 

My Album’s open; come and see ; 

What, won’t you waste a thought on me ? 

Write but a word, a word or two, 

And make me love to think on you. 

In earnestness and fervor (says Professor Wilson), 
his poem “ The Pelican Island” is by few or none ex- 


250 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


celled : it is embalmed in sincerity, and therefore shall 
not fade away, neither shall it moulder. Not that it 
is a mummy ; say, rather, a fair form laid asleep in 
immortality—its face wearing, day and night, summer 
and winter, look at it when you will, a saintly, a ce¬ 
lestial smile. 

In proof that a great poet, like Montgomery, does 
not need a great subject to display his powers upon, 
we give you his 

EPITAPH ON A GNAT, 

found crushed on a leaf of a lady’s album, and written (with a 
different reading in the last line ) in lead-pencil beneath it. 

Lie there, embalm’d from age to age! 

This is the album’s noblest page, 

Though every glowing leaf be fraught 
With painting, poesy, and thought; 

Where tracks of mortal hands are seen 
A hand invisible has been, 

And left this autograph behind, 

This image from the Eternal mind ; 

A work of skill surpassing sense, 

A labor of Omnipotence! 

Though frail as dust it meet the eye, 

He form’d this gnat who built the sky; 

Stop—lest it vanish at thy breath— 

This speck had life,*and suffer’d death! 

Sheffield, July 18, 1827. 

You will find another fine specimen of the style of 
Montgomery, both prosaic and poetic, in the sketch 
of Burns on a subsequent page. 

SECTION XIX. 

LORD BYRON (1788-1824). 

In many respects one of the most talented of wri¬ 
ters, both in prose and verse. Many of his works are 
altogether unexceptionable, though his private char¬ 
acter and not a few of his writings are to be consid- 
' ered infamous. His own feelings were, for the most 
part, bitter, misanthropic, and violent, and to these he 
is continually giving expression in his poems. His 
“ Childe Harold,” his “ Apostrophe to the Ocean,” and 
his “ Prisoner of Chillon,” have been much admired. 

Sheridan Knowles sets forth the grand 'peculiarities of By- 


BRITISH POETS. 


25 ] 


PART \i.] 

ron as follows : Year after year, and month after month, he 
continued to repeat that to be wretched is the destiny of all, 
that to be eminently wretched is the destiny of the eminent * 
that all the desires by which we are cursed lead alike tc 
misery—if they are not gratified, to the misery of disappoint 
ment; if they are gratified, to the misery of satiety. His 
principal heroes are men who have arrived by different roads 
at the same goal of despair, who are sick of life, who are at 
war with society, who are supported in their anguish only 
by an unconquerable pride, resembling that of Prometheus 
on the rock or of Satan in the burning marl; who can mas¬ 
ter their agonies by the force of their will; and who, to the 
last, defy the whole power of earth and HeaVen. 

Byron and Moore are compared by Hazlitt in the follow¬ 
ing terms: 

Mr. Moore’s Muse is another Ariel, as light, as tricksy, as 
indefatigable, and as humane a spirit. His fancy is forever 
on the wing, flutters in the gale, glitters in the sun. His 
thoughts are as restless, as many, and as bright, as the in¬ 
sects that people the sunbeam. An airy voyager on life’s 
stream, his mind inhales the fragrance of a thousand shores, 
and drinks of endless pleasures under halcyon skies. His 
variety cloys; his rapidity dazzles and distracts the sight. 
He wants intensity, strength, and grandeur. The sweetness 
of his poetry evaporates like the effluvia exhaled from beds 
of flowers! His Irish Melodies are not free from affecta¬ 
tion and a certain sickliness of pretension. His serious de¬ 
scriptions are apt to run into flowery tenderness; his pathos 
sometimes melts into a mawkish sensibility, or crystallizes 
into all the prettinesses of allegorical language. But he has 
wit at will, and of the first quality. His satirical and bur 
lesque poetry is his best. He resembles the bee: he has 
its honey and its sting. 

Lord Byron, unlike Moore, shuts himself up in the impen¬ 
etrable gloom of his own thoughts, and buries the natural 
light of things in “nook monastic.” The Giaour, the Cor¬ 
sair, Childe Harold, are all the same person, and they are 
apparently all himself. The everlasting repetition of one 
subject—the same dark ground of fiction, with the darker 
colors of the poet’s mind spread over it—the unceasing ac¬ 
cumulation of horrors on horror’s head, steels the mind 
against the sense of pain, as inevitably as the unwearied 
siren sounds and luxurious monotony of Mr. Moore’s poetry 
make it inaccessible to pleasure 


252 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


Lord Byron’s poetry is as morbid as Mr. Moore’s is care¬ 
less and dissipated. He has more depth of passion, more 
force and impetuosity, but the passion is always of the same 
unaccountable character, at once violent and sullen, fierce 
and gloomy. In vigor of style and force of conception, he, 
in one sense, surpasses every writer of the present day. 
He has beauty sometimes lurking beneath his strength, ten¬ 
derness sometimes joined with the phrensy of despair. The 
flowers that adorn his poetry bloom over charnel-houses 
and the grave! 

THE DYING GLADIATOR. 

I see before me the Gladiator lie : 

He leans upon his hand—his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 

And his droop’d head sinks gradually low; 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 

Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now 
The arena swims around him—he is gone, 

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail’d the wretch who won 
He heard it, but he heeded not—his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away; 

He reck’d not of the life he lost nor prize, 

But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,- 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 

There was their Dacian mother—he, their sire, 

Butcher’d to make a Roman holyday. 

All this rush’d with his blood—shall he expire, 

And unrevenged ? Arise, ye Goths ! and glut your ire! 

WATERLOO. 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 

And Belgium’s capital had gather’d then 

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright 

The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; 

A thousand hearts beat happily, and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes look’d love to eyes which spake again, 

And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 

But hush! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell 
Did ye not hear it ? No: ’twas but the wind, 

Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; 

No sleep till mom, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— 

But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 

As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 

Ann 1 arm ! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar! 


BRITISH POETS. 


253 


PART VI. ] 

* *,* * * * * * 

Ah! then and there were hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blush’d at the praise of their own loveliness ; 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 
■ The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 

Since upon nights so sweet, such awful mom could rise! 

And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, 

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 

Went pounng forward with impetuous speed, 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 

And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; 

And near the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 

While throng’d the citizens with terror dumb, 

On whispering, with white lips—“ The foe ! They come, they 
come!” 

A fine specimen of Byron’s writing may be seen in 
section xii., allotted to Henry Kirke White. 

SECTION XX. 

ROBERT POLLOK. 

His chief work is “ The Course of Time,” an ad¬ 
mirable poem, displaying more than ordinary poetic 
ability, and great profundity of thought. Unlike too 
much of the poetry of the age, it conveys definite and 
valuable ideas. It is free from that wordy indefinite¬ 
ness which is the fault of much of modern writing. 
It presents just views of human character, history, and 
condition, while the Divine government over our world 
is correctly and strikingly portrayed. It abounds in 
beautiful and impressive pictures. It is written in 
blank verse, and can be read without weariness. 

One of his biographers informs us that his habits were 
those of a close student: his reading was extensive; he 
could converse on almost every subject: he had a great fa¬ 
cility in composition: in confirmation of which, he is said 
to have written nearly a thousand lines weekly of the last 
four books of the “ Course of Time.” For so young a man, 
this poem was a vast achievement. The book he loved best 
was the Bible, and his style is often scriptural. Young, 


254 


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[part VI. 

Milton, and Byron, were the poets which he chiefly studied. 
He had much to learn in composition; and, had he lived, he 
would have looked almost with humiliation on much that 
is at present eulogized by his devoted admirers. But the 
soul of poetry is there, though often dimly enveloped, and 
many passages there are, and long ones, too, that heave, and 
hurry, and glow along in a divine enthusiasm. 

The following description, by him, of a poet, is 
thought to apply to S. T. Coleridge, whom we have 
already noticed: 

“ Most fit was such a place for musing men, 

Happiest sometimes when musing without aim. 

It was, indeed, a wondrous sort of bliss 

The lonely bard enjoy’d, when forth he walk’d 

Unpurposed; stood, and knew not why; sat down, 

And knew not where; arose and knew not when; 

Had eyes, and saw not; ears, and nothing heard; 

And sought—sought neither heaven nor earth—sought naught, 

Nor meant to think ; but ran, meantime, through vast 

Of visionary things, fairer than aught 

That was ; and saw the distant tops of thoughts 

Which men of common stature never saw, 

Greater than aught that largest worlds could hold y 
Or give idea of to those who read. 

He enter'd into Nature's holy place, 

Her inner chamber, and beheld her face 
Unveil'd ; and heard unutterable things 
And incommunicable visions saw." 

The following extract exhibits a prophetic view ol 
the literature of the Course of Time, particularly de¬ 
scriptive of our own day of multitudinous publications; 
too many of which are faithfully portrayed in the lan¬ 
guage of the author, as being 

“ Like swarms 

Of locusts, which God sent to vex a land 
Rebellious long.” 

THE BOOKS OF TIME. 

“ One glance of wonder, as we pass, deserve 
The books of Time. Productive was the world 
In many things ; but most in books: like swarms 
Of locusts, which God sent to vex a land 
Rebellious long, admonish’d long in vain, 

Their numbers they pour’d annually on man. 

From heads conceiving still: perpetual birth! 

Thou wonderest how the world contain’d them all» 


? ART VI.J BRITISH POETS. 255 

Thy wonder stay: like men, this was their dopm : 

That dust they were, and should to dust return. 

And oft their fathers, childless and bereaved, 

Wept o’er their graves, when they themselves were green; 
And on them fell, as fell on every age, 

As on their authors fell, oblivious Might, 

Which o'er the past lay darkling, heavy, still, 

Impenetrable, motionless, and sad, 

Having his dismal leaden plumage, stirr’d 
By no remembrancer, to show the men 
Who after came what was conceal’d beneath.” 

NOVELS. 

The story-telling tribe alone'outran 
All calculation far, and left behind, 

Lagging, the swiftest number: dreadful, even 
To fancy, was their never-ceasing birth; 

And room had lack’d, had not their life been short. 
Excepting some—their definition take 
Thou thus, express’d in gentle phrase, which leaves 
Some truth behind. A novel was a book 
Three-volumed, and once read: and oft cramm’d full 
Of poisonous error, blackening every page; 

And oftener still of trifling, second-hand 
Remark, and old, diseased, putrid thoughts, 

And miserable incident, at war 

With nature, with itself and truth at war: 

Yet charming still the greedy reader on, 

Till nothing found, but dreaming emptiness, 

These, like ephemera, sprung in a day, 

From lean and shallow-soil’d brains of sand, 

And in a day expired; yet while they lived, 

Tremendous, oft-times, was the popular roar ; 

Ana cries of—Live forever—struck the skies.” 


SECTION XXI. 

MRS. FELICIA D. HEMANS, 

born in 1793, of Irish and German origin, passed hei 
youth among the mountains and valleys of North 
Wales, the sublime and beautiful scenes of which 
produced their natural effects upon her mind. “ The 
earnest and continual study of Shakspeare imparted 
to her the power of giving language to thought; and 
before she had entered her thirteenth year, a printed 
collection of her Juvenile Poems was given to the 
world. From this period till her death, in 1835, she 


256 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

has sent forth volume after volume, each surpassing 
the other in sweetness and power. A tone of gentle, 
unforced, and persuasive goodness pervades her poe¬ 
try ; it displays no fiery passion and resorts to no ve¬ 
hement appeal: it is often sad, but never exhibits a 
complaining spirit; her diction is harmonious and 
free ; her themes, though infinitely varied, are all hap¬ 
pily chosen, and treated with grace, originality, and 
judgment. Her poetry is full of images, but they are 
always natural and true ; it is studded with ornaments, 
but they are never unbecoming.” 

THE SWITZER’S WIFE. 

The bright blood left the youthful mother’s cheek. 

Back on the linden-stem she lean’d her form; 

And her lip trembled, as it strove to speak, 

Like a frail harp-string, shaken by the storm. 

’Twas but a moment, and the faintness pass’d, 

And the free Alpine spirit woke at last. 

And she, that ever through her home had moved 
With the meek thoughtfulness and quiet smile 
Of woman, calmly loving and beloved, 

And timid in her happiness the while, 

Stood brightly forth and steadfastly, that hour 
Her clear glance kindling into suddeh power. 

Ay, pale she stood, but with an eye of light, 

And took her fair child to her holy breast, 

And lifted her soft voice, that gather’d might 
As it found language—“ Are we thus oppress’d ? 

Then must we live upon our mountain-soa, 

And man must arm, and woman call on God ! 

“ 1 know what thou wouldst do—and be it done 1 
/• Thy soul is darken’d with its fears for me. 

Trust me to Heaven, my husband !—this, thy son, 

The babe whom I have borne thee, must be free 
And the sweet memory of our pleasant hearth 
May well give strength—if aught be strong on earth. 

“ Thou hast been brooding o’er the silent dread 
Of my desponding tears ; now lift once more, 

My hunter of the hills, thy stately nead, 

And let thine eagle glance my joy restore! 

I can bear all but seeing thee subdued— 

Take to thee back thine own undaunted mood. 

“ Go forth besidq the waters, and along 

The chamois-paths, and through the forests go, 

And tell, in burning words, thy tale of wrong 
To the brave hearts that mid the hamlet glow. 


BRITISH POETS. 


257 


PART VI.] 

God shall be with thee, my beloved !—Away! 

Bless but my child, and leave me—I can pray<” 

He sprang up like a warrior-youth, awaking 
To clarion-sounds upon the ringing air; 

He caught her to his breast, while proud tears breaking 
From his dark eyes, fell o’er her braided hair— 

And “ Worthy art thou,” was his joyous cry, 

“ That man for thee should gird himself to die. 

“ My bride, my wife, the mother to my child! 

Now shall thy name be armor to my heart; 

And this our land, by chains no more defiled, 

Be taught of thee to choose the better part! 

I go—thy spirit on my words shall dwell; 

Thy gentle voice shall stir the Alps—Farewell!” 

And thus they parted, by the quiet lake 
In the clear starlight; he, the strength to rouse 
Of the free hills ; she, thoughtful for his sake, 

To rock her child beneath the whispering boughs, 
Singing its blue, half-curtain’d eyes to sleep, 

With a low hymn, amid the stillness deep. 

We should be glad to quote more largely from this gifted 
poetess, and from others of Great Britain, but must limit 
ourselves to a criticism of Professor Wilson, of Edinburgh, 
upon them—as a class. The British poetesses, he says, 
seem a series of exceedingly sensible maids and matrons— 
not “ with eyes in a fine phrensy rolling”—nor with hair 
disheveled by the tossings of inspiration, but of calm coun¬ 
tenances and sedate demeanor, not very distinguishable from 
those we love to look on by “ parlor twilight’.’ in any happy 
household we are in the habit of dropping in upon, of an 
evening a familiar guest. 

SECTION XXII. 

HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 

No one can read the memoir of this young bard, 
from the elegant pen of Southey the poet, without 
deep sensibility. We shall furnish a few sketches to 
allure the young student to an imitation of the literary 
industry of White, though it will be necessary to add 
a serious caution about that neglect of physical cul¬ 
ture, and of health, which brought him to a premature 
grave at the age of twenty-one. 

When very young, his love of reading was de¬ 
cidedly manifested. At eleven years of age, he one 

Y 2 


258 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

day, at the best school in Nottingham, wrote a separ¬ 
ate composition for every boy in his class, which con¬ 
sisted of about twelve or fourteen. The master said 
he had never known them write so well upon any 
subject before, and could not refrain from expressing 
his astonishment at the excellence of Henry’s. 

At the age of thirteen , he wrote some verses, of 
which the following are a part: 

ON BEING CONFINED TO SCHOOL ONE PLEASANT MORNING 
IN SPRING. 

***** 

“ How gladly would my soul forego 
All that arithmeticians know, 

Or stiff grammarians quaintly teach, 

Or all that industry can reach, 

To taste each morn the joys 
That with the laughing sun arise, 

And unconstrain’d to rove along 
The bushy brakes and glens among ; 

And woo the muse’s gentle power, 

In unfrequented rural bower!” 
****** 

In a few years he entered on the study of law, and 
pursued it with an application so unremitting that he 
scarce allowed himself time to eat his meals, or to 
refresh his body by sleep. Even in his walks his 
mind was intensely occupied. Thus his health suf¬ 
fered and soon gave way. His biography by Dr. 
Southey, his letters, and much of his poetry, are in 
a high degree fascinating. We have not room for 
long extracts from his poems, but will furnish one of 
the most affecting character, probably among the 
last that he ever penned—found in the close of his 
Christiad, an unfinished poem. 

“ Thus far have I pursued my solemn theme 
With self-rewarding toil; thus far have sung 
Of godlike deeds, far loftier than beseem 
The lyre, which I in early days have strung; ' 

And now my spirits faint, and I have hung 
The shell, that solaced me in saddest hour. 

On the dark cypress ! and the strings which rung 
With Jesus’ praise, their harpings now are o’er, 

Or when the breeze comes by, moan, and are heard no m< re. 


BRITISH POETS. 


259 


PART VI.J 

And must the harp of Judah sleep again ? 

Shall I no more reanimate the lay ! 

Oh ! thou who visitest the sons of men. 

Thou who dost listen when the humble pray, 

One little space prolong my mournful day 1 

One little lapse suspend thy last decree ! 

I am a youthful trav’ler in the way, 

And this slight boon would consecrate to thee, 

Ere I with death shake hands and smile that I am free.” 

Lord Byron never employed his pen more inno¬ 
cently or judiciously than in preparing the following 
lines and notes, in memory of this talented and la¬ 
mented youth. 

LINES ON HENRY KIRKE WHITE— by Byron. 
Unhappy White ! (a) while life was in its spring, 

And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, 

The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 
Has sought the grave, to sleep forever there. 

Oh 1 what a noble heart was here undone, 

When Science ’self destroy’d her favorite son ! 

Yes ! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, 

She sow’d the seeds, but Death has reap’d the fruit; . 

’Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, 

And help’d to plant the wound that laid thee low. 

So the struck eagle, stretch’d upon the plain, 

No more through rolling clouds to soar again, 

View’d his own feather on the fatal dart, 

And wing’d the shaft that quiver’d in his heart. 

Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel, 

He nursed the pinion which imped'd the steel; 

While the same plumage that had warm’d his nest, 

Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. 

(a) Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October, 1806, in conse¬ 
quence of too much exertion in the pursuit of studies that would have ma¬ 
tured > mind which disease and poverty could not impair, and which 
death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His poems abound in such 
beauties as must impress the reader with the liveliest regret that so short 
a period was allotted to talents which would have dignified even the sa¬ 
cred functions he was destined to assume. 

SECTION XXIII. 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, 

as a poet, has been the subject of unqualified ad¬ 
miration by some, and of severe animadversion by 
others. To those who desire to examine the merits 
of this disputed matter, the author would recommend 


260 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 

Professor Wilson’s elaborate and extended criticism 
on Wordsworth, in Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine 
for 1829. He has therein proved, by appropriate ex¬ 
tracts, that Wordsworth has displayed great powers 
of description, in the first place, of external nature; 
secondly, of nature, as connected with some internal 
passion or moral thought in the heart and mind of 
man; thirdly, of human appearance, as indicative of 
human character, or varieties of feeling. He has also 
shown that Wordsworth has manifested an ability to 
move the affections by means of simple pathos—that 
he has occasionally attained a chaste and classical 
dignity—that he has successfully illustrated religious 
and moral truth ; and, finally, that he has brought the 
sonnet—that difficult vehicle of poetic inspiration—to 
its highest possible pitch of excellence. Professor 
W 7 ilson has shown that Wordsworth has been over¬ 
estimated by his too ardent admirers, and underrated 
by those who have had neither opportunity nor desire 
to investigate his claims to public notice. To this 
poet, he thinks, we are indebted for the most accurate 
and noble embodying of Nature’s grandest forms. 

The following descriptive passage is a triumphant 
proof of the powers of language when wielded by a 
powerful mind: 

“A step, 

A single step, that freed me from the skirts 
Of the blind vapor, open’d to my view 
Glory beyond all glory ever seen 
By waking sense, or by the dreaming soul! 
***** * 

The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, 

Was of a mighty city—boldly say 
A wilderness of building, sinking far 
And self-withdrawn into a wondrous depth, 

Far sinking into splendor, without end. 

Fabric it seem’d of diamond and of gold, 

With alabaster domes and silver spires, 

And blazing terrace upon terrace high 
Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright 
In avenues disposed; there, towns begirt 
With battlements, that on their restless fronts 
Bore stars—illumination of all gems ! 

By earthly nature had the effect been wrought 


BRITISH POETS. 


261 


PART VI.] 

Upon the dark materials of the storm 
JS ovv pacified; on them and on the coves, 

And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto 

The vapors had receded, taking there 

Their station under a cerulean sky.”— Excursion. 

We might, perhaps, search in vain throughout the 
whole compass of English poetry for another example 
of “ words tinged with so many colors.” Here the 
hues of nature are presented to the eye. In the fol¬ 
lowing passage they are limited to the ear : 

“ Astounded in the mountain gap 
By peals of thunder, clap on clap, 

And many a terror-striking flash, 

And somewhere, as it seems, a crash 
Among the rocks ; with weight of rain , 

And sullen motions, long and slow , 

That to a dreary distance go — 

Till breaking in upon the dying strain, 

A rending o’er his head begins the fray again.” 

< Wagoner. 

The lines in the italic character discover the grace 
of imitative harmony. After God’s own language, 
the Hebrew, and the affluent Greek, there is probably 
no tongue so rich in imitative harmonies as our own. 
Observe the difference between the two words snow 
and rain. The hushing sound of the sibilant, in the 
first, followed by the soft liquid and by the round, full 
vowel, is not less indicative of the still descent of 
snow than the harsher liquid and vowel in the second, 
are of the falling shower. 

Wordsworth occasionally combines very beautiful 
feelings with beautiful imagery; in other words, as 
before remarked, he has successfully exhibited nature 
in connection with some internal passion, or moral 
thought, in the heart and mind of man. For ex¬ 
ample : 

“ Has not the soul, the being of your life, 

Received a shock of awful consciousness, 

In some calm season, when these lofty rocks, 

At night’s approach, bring down the unclouded sky 
To rest upon their circumambient walls : 

A temple framing of dimensions vast. 

And yet not too enormous for the sound 
Of human anthems—choral song, or burst 


262 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 


Sublime of instrumental harmony, 

To glorify th’ Eternal! What if these 
Did never break the stillness that prevails 
Here, if the solemn nightingale be mute, 

And the soft woodlark here did never chant 
Her vespers, Nature fails not to provide 
Impulse and utterance. The whispering air 
Sends inspiration from the shadowy heights , 

And blind recesses of the cavem’d rocks ; 

The little rills and ivaters numberless , 

Inaudible by daylight , blend their notes 
With the loud streams : and often, at the hour 
When issue forth the first pale stars , is heard, 

Within the circuit of this fabric huge, 

One voice—one solitary raven, flying 
Athwart the concave of the dark blue dome, 

Unseen, perchance above the power of sight— 

An iron knell ! With echoes from afar, 

Faint, and still fainter.”— Excursion. 

We have marked by the italic character those por¬ 
tions which deserve special remark. 

Wordsworth’s portraits of human beings. 

In executing these, not unfrequently he gives some 
masterly touches, which are to the character described 
what the hands of a watch are to a dial-plate. They 
tell the “ whereabout” of the whole man. The poet 
and the poetaster differ in this; while the latter only 
describes either from recollection or from a survey 
of some object, the former, like the true painter, paints 
from an image before his mental eye—an image in 
this respect transcending Nature herself, inasmuch as 
it combines the selectest. parts of Nature. Here fol¬ 
lows a portrait of a true English Ploughboy: 

c “ His joints are stiff; 

Beneath a cumbrous frock, that to the knees 
Invests the thriving churl, his legs appear, 

Fellows to those which lustily upheld 
The wooden stools, for everlasting use. 

On which our fathers sat. And mark his brow ! 

Under whose shaggy canopy are set 
Two eyes, not dim, but of a healthy stare; 

Wide, sluggish, blank, and ignorant, and strange , 
Proclaiming boldly that they never drew 
A look or motion of intelligence 
From infant conning of the Christ-cross row, v 


PART VI.] BRITISH POETS. 263 

C r puzzling through a primer, line by line, 

Till perfect mastery crown the pains at last.” 

There is, in the above lines, a kind of forcible hu¬ 
mor which reminds one of Cowper’s manner in The 
Task. 

Again, simple pathos is an excellent attribute of 
Wordsworth. As an example of this, Professor Wil 
son introduces extracts from “The Complaint of a 
Forsaken Indian Woman.” From sickness, or failure 
of strength, she was left behind in a wintery desert, 
while her companions moved on in pursuit of their 
business. The idea that she could have traveled a 
little farther with her companions is thus stated: 

“ Alas ! ye might have dragg’d me on 
Another day, a single one ! 

Too soon I yielded to despair— 

Why did ye listen to my prayer ? 

When ye were gone my limbs were stronger.” 

This is beautifully true to nature. It is not for her 
own sake that she clings so tenaciously to life and to 
human fellowship. She is a mother; and, as every 
fraction of time spent with her infant is a heap of 
gold, so every least division of an hour passed apart 
from it is a weight of lead. Who can read the con¬ 
tinuation of her complaint without being moved I 

“ My child ! they gave thee to another , 

A woman who was not thy mother. 

When from my arms my babe they took, 

Oh me, how strangely did he look! 

Through his whole body something ran, 

A most strange working did I see— 

As if he strove to be a man, 

That he might pull the sledge for me.” 

The first couplet is worth whole realms of amplifi¬ 
cation. The single line, 

“ A woman who was not thy mother,” 
is a world of feeling in itself. Thus does a great 
master find the shortest passage to the heart, while 
a mere describer, wandering in a labyrinth, never 
reaches the heart at all. 

Another characteristic of Wordsworth is a certain 
classical dignity. His Laodamia is an illustration of 


264 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 

this. The following sonnet is a good example of the 
chaste severity of Wordsworth’s loftier style : 

SONNET. 

LONDON, 1802. 

Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hour 
England hath need of thee ; she is a fen 
Of stagnant waters ; altar, sword, and pen, 

Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, 

Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men, 

Oh ! raise us up, return to us again ; 

And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart; 

Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea , 

Pure as the naked heavens —majestic, free, 

So didst thou travel on life’s common way 
In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy hear* 

The lowliest duties on herself did lay. 

This is great writing: no affectation, no babyism 
here, whatever there may be in some of his writings. 
The portion marked by italics is, in particular, grand, 
from the very simplicity of its thought and diction. 
Wordsworth knows that an inch of gold is better than a 
yard of gold leaf. 

Both as a moral and as a religious poet, Words¬ 
worth may take a high station, not only by the side 
of Young and of Cowper, but even of Milton. 

His sonnets are good, presenting specimens of the 
descriptive, the pathetic, the playful, the majestic, the 
fanciful, the imaginative. Lord Byron, in his works, 
has introduced many a contemptuous sarcasm on this 
fine poet, and yet has unblushingly stolen from him 
many a fine thought that adorns his own page : as in- 
stanees, the third and fourth cantos of Childe Harold 
have been cited. 

On the whole, Professor Wilson denies to Wordsworth a 
place among the greatest of English poets, and yet assigns 
him a high place among true poets in general. The want 
of a fixed style, the inequality of his compositions, the exu¬ 
berant verbosity of some, and the eccentric meanness of 
others; the striking deficiency which his works usually 
display in judgment — are all so many barriers between 
Wordsworth and the summit of fame. Although Milton is 


PART VI. J BRITISH POETS. 265 

the only poet who exceeds him in devotional sublimity, yet, 
when we consider the universal excellence of the former in 
all that he has attempted—when we look upon him as tho 
author of the great English epic—it never can be conceded 
that posterity will assign the latter a station beside him. 

On the other hand, the variety of subjects which Words¬ 
worth has touched; the varied powers which he has dis¬ 
played ; the passages of redeeming beauty interspersed 
even among the worst and the dullest of his productions; 
the originality of detached thoughts scattered throughout 
works, to which, on the whole, we must deny the praise of 
originality ; the deep pathos, and occasional grandeur of his 
lyre; his accurate observation of external nature; and the 
success with which he blends the purest and most devo¬ 
tional thoughts with the glories of the visible universe—all 
these are merits, which, although insufficient to raise him 
to the shrine, yet fairly admit him within the sacred temple 
of poesy. 

SECTION XXIV. 

THOMAS MOORE 

has written some beautiful poems, sacred as well as 
secular. It is to be regretted, as in the case of By¬ 
ron, that he has allowed himself so often to lend his 
splendid talents to the sad business of corrupting the 
morals of mankind. He has done so not only in some of 
his poetical writings, but in his memoirs of Sheridan 
and Byron, particularly the latter. True and enlight¬ 
ened friendship for this distinguished poet would have 
led the biographer to make a more modest selection 
from the letters of his admired but dissipated friend. 

Mr. Knapp gives us the following just criticism upon 
the subject of this article : 

It is difficult to speak of Moore without saying too 
little of his beauties or his faults. No man was ever 
more felicitous than he in his peculiar style of writ¬ 
ing. His muse came not from Pindus, braced with 
mountain air, but all redolent from the paradise of 
Mohammed, full of joy and enchantment, bordering 
upon intoxication. His sweets never cloy, nor can 
it be said that he is ever vulgar, however sensual. It 
must be confessed that, in his late poetical works, he 
has atoned for the looseness of his earlier writings. 


266 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


A REFLECTION AT SEA. 

See how, beneath the moonbeam’s smile. 

Yon little billow heaves its breast, 

And foams and sparkles for a while, 

And murmuring then subsides to rest. 

Thus man, the* sport of bliss and care, 

Rises on Time’s eventful sea ; 

And, having swell’d a moment there, 

Thus melts into eternity! 

MIRIAM’S SONG. 

Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! 

Jehovah has triumph’d, his people are free. 

Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken, 

His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave, 

How vain was their boasting! The Lord hath but spoken, 
And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. 

Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea! 

Jehovah has triumph’d, his people are free. 

* * * * * 

Lallah Rook” is Moore’s best poem. 

Of all the song-writers (says Professor Wilson; 
that ever warbled, or chanted, or sung, the best, in 
our estimation, is verily none other than Thomas 
Moore. True, that Robert Burns has indited several 
songs that slip into the heart, just like light, no one 
knows how, filling its chambers sweetly and silently, 
and leaving it nothing more to desire for perfect con¬ 
tentment. 


SECTION XXV. 

ROBERT BURNS. 

He has written much of the sweetest poetry in the 
language ; much, also, that a just regard to his own 
reputation would have suppressed and thrown into ob¬ 
livion. According to the poet^Montgomery, “ Burns, 
as a writer, when worthily employing his talents, is 
the poet of truth, of nature, and of Scotland. The 
high praises bestowed upon this author must be con¬ 
fined to the best and the purest in morals and in taste. 
The genius of Burns resembled the pearl of Cleopa¬ 
tra, both in its worth and its fortune: the one was 
moulded by nature in secret, beneath the depths ot 


BRITISH POETS. 


267 


FART VI.j 

the ocean; the other was produced and perfected by 
the same hand, in equal obscurity, on the banks of the 
Ayre. The former was suddenly brought to light, 
and shone for a season on the forehead of imperial 
beauty; the latter, not less unexpectedly, emerged 
from the shade, and dazzled and delighted an admir¬ 
ing nation, in the keeping of a Scottish peasant. 
The fate of both was the same; each was wantonly 
dissolved in the cup of pleasure, and quaffed by its 
possessor at one intemperate draught.” 

Mr. M. has beautifully delineated his poetic powers 
in verse : 

What bird in beauty, flight, or song, 

Can with this bird compare, 

Who sang as sweet, and soar’d as strong 
As ever child of air ? 

His plume, his note, his form, could Burns 
For whim or pleasure change ; 

He was not one, but all by turns, 

With transmigration strange. 

The black-bird, oracle of spring, 

- When flow’d his moral lay ; 

The swallow, wheeling on his wing, 

Capriciously at play; 

The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom, 

Inhaling heavenly balm; 

The raven, in the tempest’s gloom; 

The halcyon, in the calm: 

In “ auld Kirk Alloway,” the owl, 

At witching time of night; 

By “ bonnie Boon,” the earliest fowl 
That carol’d to the light. 

He was the wren amid the grove, 

WTien-in his homely vein; 

At Bannockburn the bird of Jove, 

With thunder in his train: 

The wood-lark, in his mournful hours; 

The goldfinch, in his mirth; 

The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers. 

Enrapturing heaven and earth; 

The swan, in majesty and grace, 

Contemplative and still; 

But, roused, no falcon in the chase 
Could like his satire kill. 


268 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 


The linnet in simplicity, 

In tenderness the dove; 

But, more than all beside, was he 
The nightingale in love. 

Oh! had he never stoop’d to shame, 

Nor lent a charm to vice, 

How had devotion loved to name 
That bird of paradise! 

Peace to the dead ! In Scotia’s choir 
Of minstrels great and small, 

He sprang from his spontaneous fire 
The phosnix of them all. 

The style of his patriotic poetry may be judged of 
from the following stanza. It is taken from his “ Cot¬ 
ter’s Saturday Night 

u O Scotia! my dear, my native soil! 

For whom my warmest wish to Heaven is sent, 

Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil 
Be bless’d with health, and peace, and sweet content, 

And oh, may Heaven their simple lives prevent 
From luxury’s contagion weak and vile ; 

Then however crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 

And stand, a wall of fire, around their much-loved isle.” 

The kindness of his heart may be seen in the follow¬ 
ing selections: 

ON SCARING SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TURIT 
Why, ye tenants of the lake, 

For me your watery haunt forsake 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence thus you fly? 

Why disturb your social joys, 

Parent, filial, kindred ties ? 

Common friend to you and me, 

Nature’s gifts to all are free; 

Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 

Busy feed, or wanton lave; 

Or, beneath the sheltering rock, 

Bide the surging billows’ shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race, 

Soon, too soon, your fears I trace. 

Man, your proud, usurping foe. 

Would be lord of all below; 

Plumes himself in freedom’s pride, 

Tyrant stern to all beside. 


BRITISH POETS. 


269 


PART VI.] 

ON SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME WHICH A FEL¬ 
LOW HAD‘JUST SHOT AT. 

Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art, 

And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ! 

May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 

Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart! 

Go live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains; 

No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

* * * * * * * 

STANZAS IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 
******* 

Fain would I say, “ Forgive my foul offense !” 

Fain promise never more to disobey; 

But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue’s way; 

Again in folly’s path might go astray; 

Again exalt the brute and sink the man; 

Then how should I for heavenly mercies pray ? 

Who sin so oft have mourn’d, yet to temptation ran ? 

O thou, great Governor of all below ! 

If I may dare a lifted eye to thee, 

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 

Or still the tumult of the raging sea; 

With what controlling power assist e’en me, 

Those headlong, furious passions to confine -, 

For all unfit I feel my powers to be 
To rule their torrent in th’ allowed line; 

0, aid me with thy help, Omnipotence Divine! 

SECTION XXVI. 

WALTER SCOTT. 

In his poetry he imitated the style of the early 
minstrels of his own land, and of some specimens of 
German literature. He has revived the manners, cus¬ 
toms, incidents, and sentiments of chivalrous times. 
The “ Lay of the Last Minstrel,” “ Marmion,” and 
“ Lady of the Lake” are considered the finest of his 
tales. The opinion has been expressed that if it be 
possible for either to be forgotten, his poems will 
outlive his prose, since the latter possesses no valu¬ 
able quality which is not possessed also by the 
former; these qualities being a deeply exciting story, 
true pictures of scenery, fine and accurate portraits 


270 


BRITISH POETS, 


[part VI. 

of character, clear and impressive accounts of ancient 
customs, details of battles, satisfying to the fancy, yet 
capable of enduring the sternest test of truth. In ad¬ 
dition to all these, his poems are written in the most 
harmonious verse, and in a style adapted equally to 
delight those who possess and those who are without 
a.refined poetical taste. 

Here we may commend to the perusal of youth and 
of others, the two volumes of the “ Select Works of 
British Poets,” by Professor Frost and S. C. Hall, 
who have given also a more extended notice, than 
the limits of this work allow, of the poets we have 
named and of others. 

SCOTT AND WORDSWORTH. 

Mr. Hazlitt presents the following portrait of them : 

Walter Scott describes that which is most easily and 
generally understood with more vivacity and effect than 
any body else. His style is clear, flowing, and transparent: 
his sentiments, of which his style is an easy and natural 
medium, are common to him with his readers. He differs 
from his readers only in a greater range of knowledge and 
facility of expression. His poetry belongs to the class of 
improvisatori poetry. It has neither depth, height, nor 
breadth in it; neither uncommon strength nor uncommon 
refinement of thought, sentiment, or language. He selects 
a story that is sure to please, full of incidents, characters, 
peculiar manners, costume, and scenery; and he tells it in 
a way that can offend no one. He never wearies or disap¬ 
points you. He is communicative, but not his own hero. 
He never obtrudes himself on your notice to prevent youi 
seeing the subject. He is very inferior to Lord Byron in 
intense passion, to Moore in delightful fancy, to Mr. Words¬ 
worth in profound sentiment; but he has more picturesque 
power than any of them; that is, he places the objects 
themselves, about which they might feel or think, in a much 
more striking point of view, with greater-variety of dress 
and attitude, and with more local truth of coloring. Few 
descriptions have a more complete reality, a more striking 
appearance of life and motion, than that of the warriors in 
the Lady of the Lake, who start up at the command of 
Roderic Dhu, from their concealment under the fern, and 
disappear again in an instant The Lay of the Last Min- 


PART VI.] BRITISH POETS. 271 

strel and Marmion are the first, and perhaps the best of his 
works. 

Mr. Wordsworth is the most original poet now living. 
He is the reverse of Walter Scott in his defects and excel¬ 
lences. He has nearly all that the other wants, and wants 
all that the other possesses. His poetry is not external, but 
internal; it does not depend on tradition, or story, or old 
song; he furnishes it from his own mind, and is his own 
subject. He is the poet of mere sentiment. Of many of 
the lyrical ballads and sonnets, it is not possible to speak in 
terms of too high praise, for their originality and pathos. 
The “ Hart-Leap Well” is a favorite poem with Mr. Hazlitt. 
We have not space for its insertion here. 

The Lake School of poetry, to which Mr. Wordsworth be¬ 
longs, had its origin in the French Revolution, about the time of 
which English poetry had degenerated into the most trite, 
insipid, and mechanical of all things, in the hands of the 
followers of Pope and the old French school of poetry. 
From the impulse of that revolution, poetry rose at once 
from the most servile imitation and tamest commonplace 
to the utmost pitch of singularity and paradox. The change 
in the belles-lettres was as complete, and to many persons 
as startling, as the change in politics, with which it went 
hand in hand. According to the prevailing notions, all was 
to be natural and new. Nothing that was established was 
to be tolerated. All the commonplace figures of poetry, 
tropes, allegories, personifications, with the whole heathen 
mythology, were instantly discarded; a classical allusion t 
was considered as a piece of antiquated foppery; rhyme 
was looked upon as a relic of the feudal system, and regular 
metre was abolished along with regular government. A 
singularly affected simplicity prevailed in dress and man¬ 
ners, in style and sentiment. Something new and original, 
no matter whether good, bad, or indifferent, whether mean 
or lofty, extravagant or childish, was all that was aimed at, 
or considered as compatible with sound philosophy and an 
age of reason. The paradox they set out with was, that all 
things are by natui'e equally fit subjects for poetry; or that, 
if there is any preference to be given, those that are the 
meanest and most unpromising are the best, as they have 
the greatest scope for the unbounded stores of thought and 
fancy in the writer’s own mind, and for a display of origi¬ 
nality and invention. 


272 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI. 


LADY OF THE LAKE. 

XIII. 

As the tall ship, whose lofty prow 
v Shall never stem the billows more, 

Deserted by her gallant band, 

Amid the breakers lies astrand ; 

So, on his couch, lies Roderic Dhu! 

And oft his fever’d limbs he threw 
In toss abrupt, as when her sides 
Lie rocking in th’ advancing tides, 

That shake her frame to ceaseless beat, 

Yet can not heave her from her seat; 

Oh! how unlike her course at sea ! 

Or his free step on hill and lea! 

Soon as the minstrel he could scan, 

—“ What of the lady ? of my clan ? 

My mother ?—Douglas ?—tell me all! 

Have they been ruin’d in my fall ? 

Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ? 

Yet speak—speak boldly—do not fear.” 

(For Allan, who his mood well knew, 

Was choked with grief and terror too.) 

“ Who fought ? who fled ?—Old man, be brief: 
Some might, for they had lost their chief. 

Who basely live ?—who bravely died ?” 

“ O, calm thee, chief!” the minstrel cried, 

“ Ellen is safe.”—“ For that, thank Heaven!’ 

“ And hopes are for the Douglas given; 

The Lady Margaret too is well, 

And, for thy clan—on field or fell, 

Has never harp of minstrel told 
Of combat fought so true and bold ; 

Thy stately pine is yet unbent, 

Though many a goodly bough is rent.” 

XIV. 

The chieftain rear’d his form on high, 

And fever’s fire was in his eye; 

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Checker’d his swarthy brow and cheeks. 

—“ Hark, minstrel! I have heard thee play, 
With measure bold, on festal day, 

In yon lone isle—again where ne’er 
Shall harper play, or warrior hear! 

That stirring air that peals on high, 

O’er Dermid’s race our victory. 

Strike it! and then (for well thou canst), 

Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced, 

Fling me the picture of the fight, 

When met my clan the Saxon might.” 

# * * * 




PART VI. ) 


BRITISH POETS, 


273 


XV. 

1 BATTLE OF BEAL AN PUINE. 

The minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, 

For, ere he parted, he would say, 

Farewell to lovely Loch Achray. 

Where shall he find, in foreign land, 

So lone a lake, so sweet a strand! 

There is no breeze upon the fern, 

No ripple on the lake, 

Upon the eyrie nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake; 

I'he small birds will not sing aloud. 

The springing trout lies still, 

So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, 

That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi’s distant hill. > 

Is it the thunder’s solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread, 

Or echoes from the groaning ground 
The warrior’s measured tread ? 

Is it the lightning’s quivering glance 
That on the thicket streams, 

Or do they flash on spear and lance 
The sun’s retiring beams ? 

I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 

I see the Moray’s silver star 
Wave o’er the cloud of Saxon war. 

That up the lake comes winding far! 
****** 


xvi. 

Their light-arm d archers far and near 
Survey’d the tangled ground, 

Their centre ranks, with pikes and spear, 

A twilight forest frown’d; 

Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stem battalia crown’d. 

No cymbal clash’d, no clarion rang, 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 

Save heavy tread, and armor’s clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 

There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 
Or wave their flags abroad ; 

Scarce the frail aspen seem’d to quake, 

That shadow’d o’er their road. 

Their va’ward scouts no tidings bring, 

Can rouse no lurking foe, 

Nor spy a trace of living thing, 

Save when they stirr’d the roe; 


274 


BRITISH POETS. 


[part VI 


The host moves like a deep sea-wave, 

Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, « 

High swelling, dark, and slow. 

The lake is pass’d, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain, 

Before the Trosach’s rugged jaws; 

And here the horse and spearman pause, 

While, to explore the dangerous glen, 

Dive through the pass the archer men. 

XVII. 

At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 

As all the liends, from heaven that fell, 

* Had peal’d the banner cry. of hell! 

Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 

Like cha^ff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear: 

For life ! for life! their flight they ply— 

And shriek, and shout, and battle cry, 

And plaids and bonnets waving high, 

And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in the rear. 

Onward they drive in dreadful race, 

Pursuers and pursued; 

Before that tide of flight and chase, 

How shall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearmen’s twilight wood ? 

—“ Down, down,” cried Mar, “ your lances down ’ 

Bear back both friend and foe !” 

Like reeds before the tempest’s frown, 

That serried grove of lances brown 
At once lay level’d low ! 

And closely shouldering, side by side, 

The bristling ranks the onset bide. 
**■■** * 

Professor Wilson ranks Scott far above Byron, in point 
of genius. His remarks, in substance, are as follows : 

We shall never say that Scott is Shakspeare; but we 
shall say that he has conceived and created—you know 
the meaning of these words—a far greater number of char¬ 
acters—of real living, flesh-and-blood human beings—and 
that more naturally, truly, and consistently, than Shakspeare, 
who was sometimes transcendently great in pictures of the 
passions; but out of their range, which surely does not 
comprehend all rational being, was—nay, do not threaten 
to murder us—a confused and irregular delineator of human 
life The genius of Sir Walter Scott, it will not be denied i 


BRITISH POETS. 


275 


PART VI.J 

is pretty national, and so are the subjects of all his noblest 
works, be they poems, or novels and romances by the au¬ 
thor of “ Waverley.” Up to the era of Sir Walter, living 
people had some vague, general, indistinct notion about 
dead people mouldering away to nothing centuries ago, in 
regular kirk-yards and chance burial-places, “ mang muirs 
and mosses many 0,” somewhere or other in that difficultly 
distinguished and very debateable district called the Bor¬ 
ders. All at once he touched their tombs with a divining 
rod, and the turf streamed out ghosts. Some in woodman’s 
dresses—most in warrior’s mail—green archers leaped forth 
with yew bows and quivers, and giants stalked, shaking 
spears. The gray chronicler smiled,* and, taking up his 
pen, wrote in lines of light the annals of the chivalrous and 
heroic days of auld feudal Scotland. The nation then, for 
the first time, knew the character of its ancestors ; for those 
were not spectres—not they, indeed—nor phantoms of the 
brain—but gaunt flesh and blood, or glad and glorious; base- 
born cottage-churls of the olden time, because Scottish, be¬ 
came familiar to the love of the nation’s heart, and so to its 
pride did the high-born lineage of palace kings. His themes 
in prose or numerous verse are still “knights, and lords, 
and mighty earls,” and their lady-loves—chiefly Scottish— 
of kings that fought for fame or freedom—of fatal Flodden 
and bright Bannockburn—of the Deliverer. If that be not, 
national to the teeth, Homer was no Ionian, Tyrtaeus not 
sprung from Sparta, and Christopher North a Cockney. Let 
Abbotsford, then, be cognomened by those that choose it, 
the Ariosto of the North—we shall continue to call him plain, 
simple, immortal Sir Walter. 

There is a long catalogue of other poets, of more or less note, 
for an account of whom we can, with great pleasure, only refer to 
Chambers’s “ History of English Literature,” from which we have 
freely selected and copied, in making out these sketches and se¬ 
lections. To the same work would we refer the student for a 
satisfactory and able record of the Prose-writers of Great Britain, 
that have flourished since the beginning of English literature. 


PART VII. 

AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


CHAPTER I. 

AMERICAN POETS. 

SECTION I. 

POETS OP OUR REVOLUTIONARY PERIOD. 

[It is suggested to teachers, in the use of the Seventh as well as the 
Sixth Part, to examine tbfeir pupils upon the characteristics of each author, 
and to require them to read, before their class, the specimens of each poet 
with a view to literary criticism.] 

Mr. Griswold, in his Collection of American Poetry, 
remarks that before the Revolution, before the time 
when the spirit of freedom began to influence the na¬ 
tional character, very little verse worthy of preserva¬ 
tion was produced in America, and that the poetry op 
the colonies was without originality, energy, feeling, 
or correctness of diction. 

(1.) Of the Revolutionary times Philip Freneau was 
the most distinguished poet—the room-mate, while in 
Princeton College, of James Madison. 

(2.) John Trumbull, LL.D., born in Connecticut, 
1750, died in 1831, having distinguished himself as the 
author of M'Fingal , a burlesque poem, directed against 
the enemies of American liberty. It is written in Hu- 
dibrastic strain, and is said to be the best imitation of 
the great satire of Butler that was ever written. He 
was author of another poem written in the same style, 
entitled the “ Progress of Dullness ,” which was eagerly 
read during the Revolution. From his description of 
the fop of those days we extract the following lines: 

“ Then, lest religion he should need, 

Of pious Hume he’ll learn his creed; 

By strongest demonstration shown, 

Evince that nothing can be known; 

Take arguments convey’d by doubt, 

On Voltaire’s trust, or go without; 

’Gainst Scripture rail in modern lore, 

As thousand fools have rail’d before; 



AMERICAN POETS. 


277 


PART VII.J 

Or pleased a nicer art display 
To expound its doctrines all away, 

Suit it to modem tastes and fashions, 

By various notes and emendations. 

* * * * * 

Calls piety the parson’s trade; 

Cries out, ’tis shame, past all abiding. 

The world should still be so priest-ridden ; 

Applauds free thought that scorns control, 

And generous nobleness of soul, 

That acts its pleasure, good or evil, 

And fears nor Deity nor devil.” 

(3.) Timothy Dwight, LL.D., D.D., born 1752, died 
1817, has been pronounced the father of American 
poetry, of the higher order, though his poetry is infe¬ 
rior to the productions of the best English writers, 
and also of the best American poets that have follow 
ed him. The “Conquest of Canaan,” and “Green¬ 
field Hill,” are his principal productions, exhibiting 
splendor, gravity, and an exuberant fancy. 

(4.) Dr. Lemuel Hopkins, Colonel Humphreys, and 
some others, acquired celebrity by satirical pieces 
composed during the war. Joel Barlow, also, is 
known, but not very favorably, as author of the “ Co- 
lumbiadP He was more happy in his preparation of 
the “ Hasty Pudding ,” and some other humorous 
pieces. It may gratify some to understand the origin 
of the name ; he thus gives it: 

“ Thee the soft nations round the warm Levant 
Polanta call; the French, of course, Polante. 

E’en in thy native regions how I blush 
To hear the Pennsylvanians call thee Mush ! 

On Hudson’s banks, while men of Belgic spawn 
Insult and eat thee by the name Suppawn. 

All spurious appellations, void of truth; 

I’ve better known thee from my earliest youth; 

Thy name is Hasty Pudding ! thus our sires 
Were wont to greet thee fuming from their fires ; 

And while they argued in thy just defense 
With logic clear, they thus explain’d the sense • 

In haste the boiling caldron, o’er the blaze, 

Receives and cooks the ready-powder’d maize 
In haste ’tis served, and then, in equal haste , 

With cooling milk we make .the sweet repast. 

No carving to be done, no knife to grate 
The tender ear and wound the stony plate; 

A A 


278 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[part VII. 


But the smooth spoon just fitted to the lip, 

And taught with art the yielding mass to dip, 

By frequent journeys to the bowl well stored, 

Performs the hasty honors of the board. 

Such is thy name, significant and clear, 

A name, a sound, to every Yankee dear.” 

(5.) A few years later appeared William Cliffton, 
of Pennsylvania; Robert Treat Paine, of Massachu¬ 
setts ; and Thomas G. Fessenden, of New-Hampshire. 
Their writings form what is called the transitive state 
of American poetry. Hitherto our poets had imita¬ 
ted too closely Dryden and Pope, but now began to 
pursue a more original and independent course. Their 
writings consist generally of short pieces, for the sim¬ 
ple reason that poetry was not their business, but their 
recreation, their time being chiefly devoted to other 
pursuits. The period is approaching, however, when 
poems of a more elaborate and finished character may 
be expected. 

SECTION II. 

(1.) James K. Paulding, better known as a novelisi 
than a poet, has, however, written some good pieces. 
Among his prose works the most popular have been 
Salmagundi , which was written by him in connection 
with Washington Irving; John Bull and Brother Jona¬ 
than ; The Dutchman's Fireside , and Westward Ho ! 

(2.) John Pierpont, of Boston, Massachusetts ; a 
charming writer. He has composed in almost every 
metre, and many of his hymns, odes, and other brief 
poems, are remarkable for melody and spirit. His ear¬ 
lier poems have generally been composed with more 
care than the later. Many of them relate to moral 
and religious enterprises of the present day, of which 
he has shown himself a most eloquent and powerful 
advocate. It would be gratifying to multiply extracts 
from this generous poet; but we must restrict our¬ 
selves to a few. The first is from his “ Airs of Pales¬ 
tine,” the result of his observations while traveling 
abroad in 1835 and 1836 : 

u Greece and her charms I leave for Palestine. 

There purer streams through happier valleys flow, 

And sweeter flowers on holier mountains blow 


PART VII.J AMERICAN POETS. 

I love to breathe where Gilead sheds her balm; 

I love to walk on Jordan’s bank of palm; 

I love to wet my foot in Hermon’s dews; 

l love the promptings of Jsaiah’s muse ! 

In Carmel’s holy grots I’ll court repose, 

And deck my mossy couch with Sharon’s deathless 

NAPOLEON AT REST. 

“ His falchion flash’d along the Nile, 

His hosts he led through Alpine snows ; 

O’er Moscows tower’s that blazed the while, 

His eagle-flag unroll’d—and froze ! 

Here sleeps he now, alone ! not one 
Of all the kings whom crowns he gave 

Bends o’er his dust; nor wife nor son 
Has ever seen or sought his grave. 

* * * * 

Alone he sleeps ; the mountain cloud 
That night hangs round him, and the breath 

Of morning scatters, is the shroud 
That wraps the conqueror’s clay in death. 

Pause here ! The far-off world at last 
Breathes free ; the hand that shook its thrones, 

And to the earth its mitres cast, 

Lies powerless now beneath these stones. 

Hark ! Comes there from the Pyramids, 

And from Siberia’s wastes of snow, 

And Europe’s hills, a voice that bids 
The world be awed to moum him ? No; 

The only, the perpetual dirge 
That’s heard there, is the sea-bird’s cry— 

The mournful murmur of the surge, 

The cloud’s deep voice, the wind’s low sigh.” 

OBSEQUIES OF SPURZIIEIM. 

“ Stranger, there is bending o’er thee 
Many an eye with sorrow wet; 

All our stricken hearts deplore thee ; 

Who that knew thee can forget ? 

Who forget that thou hast spoken ? 

Who, thine eye, that noble frame ? 

But that golden bowl is broken, 

In the greatness of thy fame. 

Autumn’s leaves shall fall and wither 
On the spot where thou shalt rest; 

’Tis in love we bear thee thither, 

To thy mourning mother’s breast. 


279 


rose.” 


280 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[PART VII. 


For the stores of science brought us, 

For the charm thy goodness gave 
To the lessons thou hast taught us, 

Can we give thee but a grave ?” 

* * * * 

The study of such an author by the young must 
beget noble and virtuous sentiments, and tend to 
purify the fountains of American literature. 

SECTION III. 

(1.) Richard H. Dana, of Massachusetts, has written po¬ 
ems that are justly pronounced to be characterized by high 
religious purpose, simple sentiment, profound philosophy, 
pure and vigorous diction. The Bucaneer is his principal 
poem. The wretchedness of a depraved heart, the growth 
and operation of those harassing emotions which prey some¬ 
times in the bosom of the guilty, are portrayed in vivid colors 
and with strong effect. The “ Changes of Home” is of an 
opposite character. It is a poem of great beauty. Says an 
admirable critic, G. B. Cheever, “We are disposed to rank 
Mr. Dana at the head of all the American poets, not except¬ 
ing Bryant; and we think this is the judgment which pos¬ 
terity will pass upon his writings. Not because he is su¬ 
perior to all others in the eloquence of his language, and in 
the polished beauty and finish of his compositions ; in these 
respects, Bryant has, in this country, no equal; and Mr. 
Dana is often careless in the dress of his thoughts. It will 
be long ere any one breathes forth the soul of poetry in a 
finer strain than that to the ‘ Evening Wind,’ and Coleridge 
himself could hardly have written a nobler ‘ Thanatopsis.’ 
But Mr. Dana has attempted and proved successful in a 
higher and more difficult range of poetry. He exhibits 
loftier powers, and his compositions agitate the soul with 
a deeper emotion. His language, without being so beauti¬ 
ful and finished, is yet more vivid, concise, and alive, and 
informed with meaning. His descriptions of natural objects 
may not pass before the mind with such sweet harmony, 
but they often present, in a single line, a whole picture be¬ 
fore the imagination, with a vividness and power of com¬ 
pression which are astonishing. For instance: 

‘ But when the light winds lie at rest, 

And on the glassy, heaving sea 
The black duck, with her glossy breast , 

Sits swinging silently.” 


AMERICAN POETS. 


281 


PART VII. | 

And again: 

* The ship works hard ; the seas run high 
Their white tops, flashing through the night 
Give to the eager, straining eye 
A wild and shifting light.’ 

Again, as a more general instance, and a more sublime 
one ; speaking of the prospect of immortality: 

‘ ’Tis in the gentle moonlight; 

’Tis floating mid day’s setting glories ; Night, 

Wrapp’d in her sable robe, with silent step 
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears . 

Night, and the dawn, bright day and thoughtful eve. 

All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse, 

As one vast mystic instrument, are touch’d 
By an unseen living hand, and conscious chords 
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.’ 

In these respects — in the power of giving in one word, 
as it were, a whole picture; in his admirable skill in the 
perspective, and in th'e faculty of chaining down the vast 
and the infinite to the mind’s observation, he reminds us 
both of Collins and of Milton. But, above all, we admire 
Mr. Dana, more than any other American poet, because he 
has aimed not merely to please the imagination, but to 
rouse up the soul to a solemn consideration of its future 
destinies.” 

f 

(2.) James A. Hillhouse, of Boston, born 1789, died 
1841. His best poem is “ Hadad,” a sacred drama, 
breathing the lofty thoughts and the majestic style of 
the ancient Hebrew prophets, to the study of which 
he was ardently devoted. “ As a poet,” says Gris¬ 
wold, “ he possessed qualities seldom found united: 
a masculine strength of mind and a most delicate 
perception of the beautiful. The grand characteristic 
of his writings is their classical beauty. Every pas¬ 
sage is polished to the utmost; yet there is no exu¬ 
berance, no sacrifice to false taste.” 

His style may be seen in the following extract from 
his poem, “The Judgment:” 

‘ Nearer the mount stood Moses ; in his hand 
The rod which blasted with strange plagues the realm 
Of Misraim, and from its time-worn channels 
Upturn’d the Arabian sea. Fair was his broad, 

High front, and forth from his soul-piercing eye 

A a 2 


282 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[part VII, 


Did legislation look ; which full he fix’d 
Upon the blazing panoply, undazzled. 

No terrors had the scene for him, who oft, 

Upon the thunder-shaken hill-top, veil’d 
With smoke and lightnings, with Jehovah talk’d, 

And from his fiery hand received the law. 

Beyond the Jewish ruler, banded close, I saw 
The twelve apostles stand. O, with what looks 
Of ravishment and joy, what rapturous tears, 

What hearts of ecstasy, they gazed again 
On their beloved Master! What a tide 
Of overwhelming thoughts press’d to their souls, 

When now, as He so frequent promised, throned, 

And circled by the hosts of heaven, they traced 
The well-known lineaments of Him who shared 
Their wants and sufferings here ! Full many a day 
Of fasting spent with Him, and night of prayer, 

Rush’d on their swelling hearts. 

Turn now, where stood the spotless Virgin: sweet 
Her azure eye, and fair her golden ringlets ; 

But changeful as the hues of infancy 

Her face. As on her son, her Gon, she gazed, 

Fix’d was her look—earnest and breathless ; now 
Suffused her glowing cheek ; now, changed to pale; 

First, round her lip a smile celestial play’d, 

Then, fast, fast rain’d the tears. Who can interpret • 
Perhaps some thought maternal cross’d her heart, 

""hat mused on days long past, when on her breast 
1. e helpless lay, and of His infant smile ; 

Or on those nights of terror, when, from worse 
Than wolves, she hasted with her babe to Egypt.” 

SECTION IV. 

fl.) Charles Sprague, of Boston, has displayed ex 
quisite taste in some of his poems. Read the follow 
mg account of a death and burial at sea. 

“ Return ! alas ! he shall return no more, 

To bless his own sweet home, his own proua snore. 

Look once again—cold in his cabin now, 

Death’s finger-mark is on his pallid brow ; 

No wife stood by, her patient watch to keep, 

To smile on him, then turn away to yvqep ; 

Kind woman’s place rough mariners supplied, 

And shared the wanderer’s blessing when he dieo. 
Wrapp’d in the raiment that it long must wear, 

His body to the deck they slowly bear ; 

Even there the spirit that I sing is true ; 

The crew look on with sad, but curious view* * 


PART VII.] AMERICAN POETS. 283 

The setting sun flings round his farewell rays ; 

O’er the broad ocean not a ripple plays. 

How eloquent, how awful in its power, 

The silent lecture of death’s sabbath hour! 

One voice that silence breaks—the prayer is said, 

And the last rite man pays to man is paid ; 

The plashing waters mark his resting-place, 

And fold him round in one long, cold embrace: 

Bright bubbles for a moment sparkle o’er, 

Then break, to be, like him, beheld no more; 

Down, countless fathoms down, he sinks to sleep, 

With all the nameless shapes that haunt the deep.’' 

None but a man of strong domestic and social af¬ 
fections could have written thus. Of these affections 
there may be seen delightful evidence in “ The Broth¬ 
ers,” and the “ Family Meeting also in his “ Centen¬ 
nial Ode]' and “ Lines to a Young Mother .” 

(2.) Carlos Wilcox, of New-Hampshire, deserves 
honorable mention. G. B. Cheever, one of the best 
prose writers in this country, remarks that “ Wilcox 
resembled Cowper in many respects; in the gentle¬ 
ness and tenderness of his sensibilities—in the modest 
and retiring disposition of his mind—in its fine culture 
and its original poetica. cast, and not a little in the 
character of his poetry. It has been said with truth, 
that if he had given himself to poetry as his chief oc¬ 
cupation, he might have been the*. Cowper of New- 
England. 


SECTION V. 

(1.) William Cullen Bryant, of Massachusetts, 
born in 1794. At ten years of age he began to write 
poetry for the press. When fourteen years old he 
published a volume of poems, which was so well re¬ 
ceived as to attain a second edition in the following 
year. The North American Review furnishes what 
seems to be a just criticism upon Bryant as a poet, a 
part of which is here subjoined. “ His poetry has 
truth, delicacy, and correctness, as well as uncommon 
vigor and richness; he is always faithful to nature ; he 
selects his groups and images with judgment. Noth¬ 
ing is borrowed, nothing artificial; his pictures have 


284 


AMERICAN POETS 


[part VII. 

an air of freshness and originality which could come 
from the student of nature alone. He is less the poet 
of artificial life than of nature and the feelings. There 
is something for the heart as well as for the under¬ 
standing and fancy, in all he writes ; something which 
touches our sensibility, and awakens deep-toned, sa¬ 
cred reflections.” 

“ Again, he charms us by his simplicity. His pic¬ 
tures are never overcharged. His strains, moreover, 
are exquisitely finished. Besides, no sentiment or 
expression ever drops from him which the most rigid 
moralist would wish to blot.” 

“• Thanatopsis” has been already referred to. We 
forbear to quote it, merely because it has been so 
often copied, and may, perhaps, be familiar. But we 
hesitate not to say that the language of poetry pre¬ 
sents not a sweeter page than that which is occupied 
with Mr Bryant’s address to the “Evening Wind.” 

TO THE EVENING WIND. 

“ Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou 
That cool’st the twilight of the sultry day, 

Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow; 

Thou hast been out upon the deep at play, 

Riding all day the wild blue waves till now, 

Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray. 
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee 
To the scorch’d land, thou wanderer of the sea 

“ Nor I alone : a thousand bosoms round 
Inhale thee in the fullness of delight; 

And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound 
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night; 

And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound, 

Lies the vast inland stretch’d beyond the sight. 

Go forth into the gathering shade ; go forth, 

God’s blessing breathed upon the fainting earth/’ 

Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, 

Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse 
The wide old wood from his majestic rest, 

Summoning from the innumerable boughs 
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast; 

Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly bows 
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass, 

And ’twixt the o’ershadowing branches and the grass * 


AMERICAN POETS. 


285 


PART VII.J 

“ The faint old man shall lean his silver head 
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, 

And dry the moisten’d curls that overspread 
His temples, while his breathing grows more deep ; 

And they who stand about the sick man’s bed, 

Shall joy to. listen to thy distant sweep. 

And softly part his curtains to allow 
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.” 

44 Go—but the circle of eternal change, 

That is the life of Nature, shall restore, 

■With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, 

Thee to thy birthplace of the deep once more; 

Sweet odors in the sea air. sweet and strange, 

Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore ; 

And, listening to thy murmur, he shall deem 
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.” 

We would be glad to quote Bryant’s pieces on the 
“ Death of the Flowers ” and “ Autumn Woods f but our 
prescribed limits forbid. We shall be obliged, also, 
to be more brief in the notices and quotations that 
follow, in respect to other authors, only adding the 
fine description given of Bryant, that “ he is the trans¬ 
lator of the silent language of Nature to the world,” 
and the remark that his poems are valuable, not only 
for their intrinsic excellence, but for the purifying in¬ 
fluence their wide circulation is calculated to exer¬ 
cise on national feelings and manners. 

(2.) Fitz-Greene Halleck, Connecticut, born 1795. 
He is author of the beautiful lines in memory of his 
friend Dr. Drake, the poet, beginning with 

“ Green be the turf above thee, 

Friend of my better days ; 

None knew thee but to love thee, 

None named thee but to praise.” 

“ Fanny,” “ Alnwick Castle,” “ Marco Bozzaris,” are 
the best known of his productions. He is distinguish¬ 
ed by a talent for satire. Says Bryant, “ He delights 
in ludicrous contrasts. He venerates the past and 
laughs at the present. His poetry, whether serious 
or sprightly, is remarkable for the melody of the num¬ 
bers ; it is not the melody of monotonous, and strictly 
regular measurement. He understands that the rivu¬ 
let is made musical by obstructions in its channel.” 


286 


AMERICAN POEIS. 


[part VII. 

The following sketch of the “Yankees” is taken 
from an unpublished poem, entitled Connecticut: 

“ They love their land because it is their own, 

And scorn to give aught other reason why , 

Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, 

Ahd think it kindness to his majesty: 

A stubborn race, fearing and flattering none. 

Such are they nurtured, such they live and die. 

All—but a few apostates, who are meddling 

With merchandise, pounds, shillings, pence, and peddling, 

Or wandering through southern countries, teaching 
The ABC from Webster’s Spelling-book : 

Gallant and godly, making love and preaching, 

And gaining, by what they call ‘ hook and crook,’ 

And what moralists call overreaching, 

A decent living. The Virginians look 
Upon them with as favorable eyes 
As Gabriel on the devil in Paradise. 

But these are but their outcasts. View them near 
At home, where all their worth and pride are placed: 

And there their hospitable fires burn clear. 

And there the lowliest farm-house hearth is graced 
With manly hearts, in piety sincere, 

Faithful in love, in honor stem and chaste, 

In friendship warm and true, in danger brave, 

Beloved in life, and sainted in the grave.” 

SECTION Y. 

(1.) N. P. Willis, Maine, born 1807. In tne opm 
ion of Mr. Griswold, “ the prose and poetry of Mr 
Willis are alike distinguished for exquisite finish and 
melody. His language is pure, varied, and rich ; his 
imagination brilliant, and his wit of the finest quality. 
Many of his descriptions of natural scenery are writ¬ 
ten pictures: and no other author has represented with 
equal vivacity and truth the manners of the age. His 
dramatic poems have been the most successful works 
of their kind produced in America. They exhibit a 
deep acquaintance with the common sympathies and 
passions, and are as remarkable as his other writings 
for affluence oflanguage and imagery, and descriptive 
power. Willis is more than any other of our best 
writers the poet of the world, familiar with the secret 
springs of action in social life, and moved himself by 


AMERICAN POETS, 


287 


PART VII.] 

the same influences which guide his fellows. His 
pieces are various, presenting strong contrasts, and 
they are alike excellent;” but he has too generally 
employed his pen upon light and frivolous topics. His 
* Scripture Sketches” and “ Unwritten Philosophy” 
prove him capable of the loftiest and strongest efforts 
of genius. The following is an extract from his “Ab¬ 
salom 

“ King David’s limbs were weary. He had fled 
From far Jerusalem, and now he stood 
With his faint people for a little rest 
Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow 
To its refreshing breath; for he had worn 
The mourner’s covering, and he had not felt 
That he could see his people until now. 

They gather’d round him on the fresh green bank, 

And spoke their kindly words; and as the sun 
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, 

And bow’d his head upon his hands to pray. 

Oh ! when the heart is full, when bitter thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for utterance, 

And the poor common words of courtesy 
Are such a very mockery, how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer 1 
He pray’d for Israel; and his voice went up 
Strongly and fervently ; he pray’d for those 
Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tone 
Grew tremulous; but oh! for Absalom ! 

For his estranged, misguided Absalom— 

The proud, bright being who had burst away, 

In all his princely beauty, to defy 

The heart that cherish’d him—for him he pour’d, 

In agony that would not be controll’d, 

Strong supplication, and forgave him there 
Before his God, for his deep sinfulness.” 

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG GIRL 
“ ’Tis difficult to feel that she is dead. 

Her presence, like the shadow of a wing 
That is just lessening in the upper sky. 

Lingers upon us. We can hear her voice, 

And for her step we listen, and the eye 
Looks for her wonted coming with a strange, 

Forgetful earnestness. We can not feel 

That she will no more come—that from her cheek 

The delicate flush has faded, * * * 

* * * and on her lip, 


288 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[PA£T VII. 


That was so exquisitely pure, the dew 

Of the damp grave has fallen ! Who, so loved, 

Is left among the living? Who hath walk’d 
The world with such a winning loveliness, 

And on its bright brief journey, gather’d up 
Such treasures of affection ? She was loved 
Only as idols are. She was the pride 
Of her familiar sphere—the daily joy 
Of all who on her gracefulness might gaze, 

And in the light and music of her way, 

Have a companion’s portion. Who could feel, 

While looking upon beauty such as hers, 

That it would ever perish 1 It is like 

The melting of a star into the sky 

While you are gazing on it, or a dream 

In its most ravishing sweetness rudely broken.” 

(2.) Mrs. L. H. Sigourney, of Connecticut: born in 
1797. Her poetical productions are very numerous. 
Her contributions to periodical works are very fre¬ 
quent, and, in general, excellent; always so in respect 
to their religious spirit and tendency. She deserves 
the gratitude of her age for her numerous writings, 
both in prose and poetry. Among the former stand 
high in public favor her “ Letters to Young Ladies.” 

In her elegant work, “ Pleasant Memoirs of Pleas¬ 
ant Lands,” published since her recent visit to Eng¬ 
land, we find the following notice of the poet Southey , 
whom she declined going to see on account of his 
mental derangement: 

I thought to see thee in thy lake-girt home, 

Thou of creative soul! I thought with thee 
Amid thy mountain solitudes to roam, 

And hear the voice whose echoes, wild and free, 

Had strangely thrill’d me, when my life was new, 

With old romantic tales of wondrous lore; 

But ah! they told me that thy mind withdrew 
Into tny mystic cell—nor evermore 

Sat on the lip, in fond, familiar word, 

Nor through the speaking eye her love repaid, 

Whose heart for thee with ceaseless care is stirr’d, 

Both night and day; upon her willow shade 
Her sweet harp hung. They told me, and I wept, 

As on my pilgrim way o’er England’s vales I kept.” 

A fine critic in the “ North American Review” of 


PART VII. J AMERICAN POETS. 289 

1835, bears the following just tribute to Mrs Sigour¬ 
ney : 

“ The excellence of all her poems is quiet and un¬ 
assuming. They are full of the sweet images and 
bright associations of domestic life; its unobtrusive 
happiness, its unchanging affections, and its cares and 
sorrows ; of the feelings naturally inspired by life’s 
vicissitudes, from the cradle to the deathbed; of the 
hopes that burn, like the unquenched altar-fire, in that 
chosen dwelling-place of virtue and religion. The 
light of a pure and unostentatious faith shines around 
them, blending with her thoughts, and giving a tender 
coloring to her contemplations, like the melancholy 
beauty of our own autumnal scenery.” 

We only add the following beautiful lines on the 

MARRIAGE OF THE DEAF AND DUMB. 

No word ! no sound! But yet a solemn rite 
Proceedeth through the festive, lighted hall. 

Hearts are in treaty, and the soul doth take 
That oath, which, unabsolved, must stand till death, 

With icy seal, doth stamp the scroll of life. 

No word ! no sound ! But still yon holy man. 

With strong and graceful gesture, doth impose 
The irrevocable vow, and with meek pra'yer 
Present it to be register’d in Heaven. 

Methinks this silence heavily doth brood 
Upon the spirit. Say, thou flower-crown’d bride, 

What means the sigh which from that ruby lip 
Doth ’scape, as if to seek some element 
Which angels breathe ? 

Mute ! mute ! ’tis passing strange 
Like necromancy all. And yet, ’tis well; 

For the deep trust with which a maiden cast 
Her all of earth, perchance her all of heaven, 

Into a mortal’s hand, the confidence 

With which she turns in every thought to him, 

Her more than brother, and her next to God, 

Hath never yet been shadow’d out in word, 

Or told in language. 

So, ye voiceless pair, 

Pass on in hope. For ye may build as firm 
Your silent altar in each others’ hearts, 

And catch the sunshine through, the clouds of time 
As cheerily, as though the pomp of speech 
Did herald forth the - deed. And when ye dwell 
B B 


290 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[part VII. 

Where flower fades not, and death no treasured link 
Hath power to sever more, ye need not mourn 
The ear sequestrate, and the tuneless tongue, 

For there the eternal dialect of love 
Is the free breath of every happy soul. 

SECTION VII. 

(1.) Hannah F. Gould, of Vermont, has acquired 
considerable reputation by her numerous contribu¬ 
tions to newspapers of the day. 

The critic last Quoted speaks of Miss Gould, as a 
writer of poetry, in the following beautiful terms : 

“ One of the principal attractions of her writings 
is their perfect freedom from pretension; she com¬ 
poses without the slightest effort to do more than to 
express her own thoughts in the most unaffected lan¬ 
guage ; in this way, however, she produces more ef¬ 
fect than she could do by laborious effort. 

“ Miss Gould is uniformly faithful to nature. Like 
Mrs. Sigourney, she gathers the wild flowers of the 
rock and dell; and she does more ; she collects those 
which many pass by unnoticed, as too common and 
familiar to be entitled to a place in an ornamental 
garland; but she looks upon them as the works of 
God, and fitted to convey a striking moral. This, 
doubtless, is the secret of her popularity.” 

THE SILVER-BIRD’S NEST. 

BY MISS H. F. GOULD. 

We were shown a beautiful specimen of the ingenuity of birds, a few 
days since, by Dr. Cook of this borough. It was a bird’s nest made entirely 
of silver wires, beautifully woven together. The nest was found on a 
sycamore-tree, by Dr. Francis Beard, of York County. It was the nest of 
a hanging-bird, and the material was probably obtained from a soldier’s 
epaulet which it had found.— Westchester Village Record , 1838. 

A stranded soldier’s epanlet, 

The waters cast ashore, 

A little winged rover met, 

And eyed it o’er and o’er. 

The silver bright so pleased her sight, 

On that lone, idle vest, 

She knew not why she should deny 
Herself a silver nest 


e\RT VII.] 


AMERICAN POETS. 


291 


The shining wire she peck’d and twirl’d; 

Then bore it to her bough, 

Where on a flowery twig ’twas curl’d, 

The bird can show you how ; 

But when enough of that bright stuff 
The cunning builder bore 
Her house to make, she would not take, 

Nor did she covet, more. 

And when the little artisan, 

While neither pride nor guilt 
Had enter’d in her pretty plan, 

Her resting-place had built; 

With here and there a plume to spare 
About her own light form, 

Of these, inlaid with skill, she made 
A lining soft and warm. 

But, do you think the tender brood 
She fondled there, and fed, 

Were prouder when they understood 
The sheen about their bed ? 

Do you suppose they ever rose, 

Of higher powers possess’d, 

Because they knew they peep’d and grew 
Within a silver nest ? 

(2.) Lucretia and Margaret Davidson, New-York 
are remarkable for the early development of their 
poetic capacities. Both died before they had reached 
seventeen years of age. Their writings have been 
collected by Washington Irving, accompanied with an 
interesting memoir. 

(3.) James G. Percival, of Connecticut, born 1795. 
His first published volume contains many poems writ¬ 
ten in his seventeenth year. His early publications 
gave just offence by their sceptical sentiments, but 
his later writings are said to be free from these. It 
is stated that none of our poets surpass Dr. Percival 
in learning, scholarship, or universality of informa¬ 
tion. According to Mr. Kettell, “ his poetry is more 
imaginative than sentimental, rather diffuse, and often 
negligent. But his language is well selected and pic¬ 
turesque, bold and idiomatic ; his verse is harmonious, 
and contains many of those sweet and hallowed forms 
of expression which render poetry the repository of 
the most striking truths, as well as the vehicle of the 


292 


AMERICAN POETS, 


[part VII. 

finest emotions. His delineations of human feeling 
and conduct are sometimes beyond life and nature, 
and bordering on the extravagant.” 

You are now presented with his affecting picture of 

THE DESERTED WIFE. 
***** 

“ I had a husband once, who loved me: now 
He ever wears a frown upon his brow, 

And feeds his passion on a wanton’s lip. 

As bees, from laurel flowers, a poison sip; 

But yet I can not hate. Oh! there were hours 
When I could hang forever on his eye, 

And Time, who stole with swiftness by, 

Strew’d, as he hurried on, his path with flowers. 

I loved him then—he loved me too. My heart 
Still finds its fondness kindle, if he smile; 

The memory of our loves will ne’er depart; 

And though he oftei> sting me with a dart, 

Venom’d and barb’d, and waste upon the vile 
Caresses which his babe and mine should share; 

Though he should spurn me, I will calmly bear 
His madness ; and should sickness come, and lay 
Its paralyzing hand upon him, then 
I would, with kindness, all my wrongs repay, 

Until the penitent should weep, and say 
How injured, and how faithful I had been.” 

SECTION VIII. 

(1.) J. G. C. Brainerd, of Connecticut, died 1828. 
His collection of poems consists of articles written 
nastily for a weekly newspaper edited by him ; yet, 
says Mr. Kettell, “ these productions, so little elabo¬ 
rated, and written under various causes of enervation, 
are stamped with an originality, boldness, force, and 
pathos, illustrative of genius, not, perhaps, inferior to 
that of Burns, and certainly much resembling it in 
kind. No man ever thought his own thoughts more 
independently than he did.” 

Bead his lines on 

Tim INDIAN SUMMER. 

“ What is there saddening in the autumn leaves ? 

Have they that £ green and yellow melancholy’ 

That the sweet poet spake of ? Had he seen 
Our variegated woods, when first the frost 


AMERICAN POETS. 


293 


PART VII.] 

Turns into beauty all October’s charms— 

When the dread fever quits us—when the storms 
Of the wild Equinox, with all its wet, 

Has left the land, as the first deluge left it, 

With a bright bow of many colors hung 
Upon the forest tops—he had not sigh’d. 

The moon stays longest for the hunter now; 

The trees cast down their fruitage, and the blithe 
And busy squirrel hoards his winter store; 

While man enjoys the breeze that sweeps along 
The bright blue sky above him, and that bends 
Magnificently all the forest’s pride, 

Or whispers through the evergreens, and asks, 

' What is there saddening in the autumn leaves?’” 

(2.) H. W. Longfellow — Maine. The North American 
Review for 1844, among other remarks, furnishes the fol¬ 
lowing, upon his poems. His great characteristic is that 
of addressing the moral nature through the imagination, of 
linking moral truth to intellectual beauty. The best literary 
artist is he who accommodates his diction to his subject. In 
this Longfellow is an artist. By learning “ to labor and to 
wait,” by steadily brooding over the chaos in which thought 
and emotion first appear to the mind, and giving shape and 
life to both before uttering them in words, he has obtained 
a singular mastery over expression. By this we do not 
mean that he lias a large command of language. No fallacy 
is greater than that which confounds fluency with expression. 
Washerwomen, and boys at debating clubs, often display 
more fluency than Webster ; but his words are to theirs as 
the rolling thunder to the patter of rain. Felicity, not flu¬ 
ency of language, is a merit. 

Longfellow has a perfect command of that expression 
which results from restraining rather than cultivating flu¬ 
ency, and his manner is adapted to his theme. His words 
are often pictures of his thought. He selects with great 
delicacy and precision the exact phrase which best ex¬ 
presses or suggests his idea. He colors his style with the 
skill of a painter. In that higher department of his art, that 
of so combining his words and images that they make mu¬ 
sic to the soul as well as to the ear,, and convey not only 
his feelings and thoughts, but also the very tone and condi¬ 
tion of the soul in which they have being, he likewise ex¬ 
cels. In ‘"Maidenhood” and “Endymion,” this power is 
admirably displayed. In one of his best poems, “.The Skel¬ 
eton in Armor,” he manages a difficult verse with great skill. 
B n 2 


294 


AMERICAN POETS. [PART VII, 


His felicity in addressing the moral nature of man may 
be discovered in the following lines: 

“ Lives of great men all remind us, 

We can make our lives sublime, 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time. 

Footprints that perhaps another, 

Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwreck’d brother. 

Seeing, shall take heart again.” 

This is very different from merely saying that, if we follow 
the example of the great and good, we shall live a noble life, 
and that the record of our deeds and struggles will strength* 
en the breasts of those who come after us, to do and to 
suffer. 

Longfellow’s verse occupies a position half way between 
the poetry of actual life and the poetry of transcendental¬ 
ism. Like all neutrals, he is liable to attack from the zeal¬ 
ots of both parties; but it seems to us that he has hit the 
exact point, beyond which no poet can at present go, with¬ 
out being neglected or ridiculed. An air of repose, of quiet 
power, is around his compositions. In “ The Spanish Stu¬ 
dent,” the affluence of his imagination in images of grace, 
grandeur, and beauty, is most strikingly manifested. 

SECTION IX. 

John G. Whittier (says the North American Review) is 
one of our most characteristic poets. Few excel him in 
warmth of temperament. There is a rush of passion in his 
verse, which sweeps every thing along with it. His fancy 
and imagination can hardly keep pace with their fiery com¬ 
panion. His vehement sensibility will not allow the inven¬ 
tive faculties to complete what they may have commenced. 
The stormy qualities of his mind, acting at the suggestions 
of conscience, produce a kind of military morality, which 
uses all the deadly arms of verbal warfare. His invective 
is merciless and undistinguishing; he almost screams with 
rage and indignation. Of late, he has somewhat pruned 
the rank luxuriance of his style. He has the soul of a great 
poet, and we should not be surprised if he attained the 
height of excellence in his art 


PART VII.] 


AMERICAN POETS. 


295 


SECTION X. 

Alfred B. Street, of Albany, editor of the Northern 
Light, is well entitled to a place among American po¬ 
ets, as will be apparent from his description of the 
Gray Forest Eagle. 

THE GRAY FOREST EAGLE. 

With storm-daring pinion and sun-gazing eye, 

The Gray Forest Eagle is king of the sky ! 

Oh! little he loves the green valley of flowers, 

Where sunshine and song cheer the bright summer hours, 

For he hears in those haunts only music, and sees 
But rippling of waters and waving of trees ; 

There the red-robin warbles, the honey-bee hums, 

The timid quail whistles, the shy partridge drums ; 

And if those proud pinions, perchance, sweep along, 

There’s a shrouding of plumage, a hushing of song; 

The sunlight falls stilly on leaf and on moss, 

And there’s naught but his shadow black gliding across ; 

But the dark, gloomy gorge, where down plunges the foam 
Of the fierce rock-lash’d torrent, he claims as his home ; 

There he blends his keen shriek with the roar of the flood, 
And the many-voiced sounds of the blast-smitten wood ; 

From the fir’s lofty summit, where morn hangs its wreath. 

He views the mad waters white writhing beneath : 

On a limb of that moss-bearded hemlock far down, 

With bright azure mantle and gay mottled crown, 

The kingfisher watches, while o’er him his foe, 

The fierce hawk, sails circling, each moment more low ; 

Now poised are those pinions and pointed that beak. 

His dread swoop is ready, when hark ! with a shriek 
His eyeballs red blazing, high bristling his crest. 

His snake-like neck arch’d, talons drawn to his breast. 

With the rush of the wind-gust, the glancing of light, 

The Gray Forest Eagle shoots down in his flight; 

One blow of those talons, one plunge of that neck. 

The strong hawk hangs lifeless, a blood-dripping wreck; 

And as dives the free kingfisher, dart-like on high 
With his prey soars the eagle, and melts in the sky. 
********** 

The advanced age to which the eagle is supposed 
to attain is thus beautifully described : 

Time whirls round his circle, his years roll away, 

But the Gray Forest Eagle minds little his sway: 

The child spurns its buds for youth’s thorn-hidden bloom, 
Seeks manhood’s bright phantoms, finds age and a tomb; 


296 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[part VII. 

But the eagle’s eye dims not, his wing is unbow’d, 

Still drinks he the sunshine, still scales he the cloud f . 

The green tiny pine shrub points up from the moss, 

The wren’s foot would cover it, tripping across; 

The beechnut down dropping would crush it beneath, 

But ’tis warm’d with heaven’s sunshine and fann’d by its breath, 
The seasons fly past it, its head is on high, 

Its thick branches challenge each mood of the sky; 

On its rough bark the moss a green mantle creates, 

And the deer from his antlers the velvet down grates: 

Time withers its roots, it lifts sadly in air 
A trunk dry and wasted, a top jagged and bare, 

Till it rocks in the soft breeze, and crashes to earth, 

Its brown fragments strewing the place of its birth. 

The eagle has seen it up-struggling to sight, 

He has seen it defying the storm in its might, 

Then prostrate, soil-blended, with plants sprouting o’er, 

But the Gray Forest Eagle is still as of yore. 

His flaming eye dims not, his wing is unbow’d, 

Still drinks he the sunshine, still scales he the cloud 1 
He has seen from his eyrie the forest below, 

In bud and in leaf, robed with crimson and snow, 

The thickets, deep wolf-lairs, the high crag his throne, 

And the shriek of the panther has answer’d his own. 

He has seen the wild red man the lord of the shades, 

And the smoke of his wigwams curl’d thick in the glades , 

He has seen the proud forest melt breath-like away, 

And the breast of the earth lying bare to the day: 

He sees the green meadow-grass hiding the lair, 

And his crag-throne spread naked to sun and to air; 

And his shriek is now answer’d, while sweeping along, 

By the low of the herd and the husbandman’s song; 

He has seen the wild red man swept off by his foes, 

And he sees dome and roof where those smokes once arose; 
But his flaming eye dims not, his wing is unbow’d, 

Still drinks he the sunshine, still scales he the cloud! 

An emblem of Freedom, stern, haughty, and high, 

Is the Gray Forest Eagle, that king of the sky! 

It scorns the bright scenes,4he gay places of earth-— 

By the mountain and torrent it springs into birth; 

There, rock’d by the whirlwind, baptized in the foam, 

It’s guarded and cherish’d, and there is its home! 
*********** 

SECTION XI. 

E. W. B. Canning, of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, 
has not yet published a volume of poems, but has 
furnished many valuable contributions to American 
poetry, in the weekly periodicals of our state, giving 


AMERICAN P0ET3. 


297 


PART VII.J 

promise of future productions of rare excellence. 
The following lines form part of a poem published in 
the New-York Tribune of August 8th, 1844. The 
subject is 

AHAB.—2 Chronicles, iviii. 

A day of splendor dawneth on thy towers, 

Princely Samaria ! From dome to dome 
Leaps the bright flush that heraldeth the sun ! 

Thy walls, whose frowning battlements are stern 
From time and war; thy skyey turrets’ tops; 

Thy palaces, the pride of Israel 
And royal Ahab, and thy massy gates. 

Whose lofty fronts are wrought with storied brass, 

All lift a pompous welcome to the morn. 

The sun of Palestine is still below 
The unwaked mountains, yet the gorgeous East 
Lighteth the curtains of her glory up 
W T ith majesty unutterable. See ! 

The emulous landscape, from the far-seen vale 
Of Jordan on to Lebanon, lifts up 
Its thousand hills to catch the golden hues 
Of heaven-born beauty as they glow beyond! 

There is a murmur as of breaking rest 
In the proud capital, and straggling forms 
Infrequent pace the ramparts—it may be 
Of drowsy sentinels alert again, 

As the throng stirs below them, or attempts 
Th’ unopen’d portals. 

Hark! a brazen voice 
Swells from the valley, like the clarion 
That calls to battle. Skirting all the hills, 

Speeds the blithe tone, and wakes an answer up 
In rock and forest, till the vale hath talk’d 
With all its tongues, and in the fastnesses 
Of the far dingle, faint and fainter heard, 

Dies the last sullen echo. ’Tis the trump 
That breaks the bivouac of an untold host— 

Thy warrior sons, O Israel! Lo! their tents 
Whiten the green declivities that gird 
The royal city; and the gray of dawn 
Blends the vast group into a boundless field 
Of snowy canvas. Summoning the brave, 

A voice hath pass’d from Dan to Beersbeba; 

The pride of Palestine hath heard—the prince, 

The valiant and the mighty, youth and strength, 

And veteran age, have burnish’d shield and spear, 

And buckled on their armor at the call! 

For Ahab warreth—the uncircumcised 

Have scoff’d the high-soul’d Hebrew—e’en the bless’d 


2.98 


AMERICAN POETS. 


[part VII 


Jehoshaphat hath sworn to help, and leagued 
His people with idolaters to fight 
The haughty Syrian. 

Morning’s eye hath oped.. 

And the sun seeks the zenith. Oh ! the sight 
His splendor looks on in this favor’d land, 

Whereon, though grievous are its sins, the curse 
Of the Almighty lingereth to fall! 

Oh! who, to see the glory of its hills, 

Its streams, its pastures, and its plains, where now 
A matchless verdure smiles ; its ancient groves; 

Its cities wall’d, and towers of strength ; its sons, 
Countless as flocks that sport in happiness 
Mid the green beauty of the fields, could dream 
The Gentile’s sword should mar its gorgeousness, 

And spread its ashes to the winds of heaven ! 
***** 

Now goes the royal mandate forth—“ To arms !” 
Samaria’s length and breadth, wall, streets, and gates, 
Bustle with warriors. Iron-girded men 
In fast-form’d ranks haste downward to the plain. 

The palace swarms with officers who wait 

The monarch’s orders; while through the throng’d ways, 

Steeds, with the speed of wind, and breath of fire, 

Hurl the dun chariot with thunder on. 

The shouts of legion’d myriads, and the clang 
Of thousand battle trumpets, rend the air; 

For the leagued kings are to the hosts gone down. 
***** 

Another bright day’s sunset bathes the hills 
That gird Samaria. Their green and gold 
Sleep in their soft, unsullied lustre still. 

As though earth knew no grief for evermore. 

Ah! that is not the voice of joy that comes 
From the wall’d capital. It is the wail 
Of lone bereavement; for all Israel mourns. 

See, straggling o’er the mountain’s back, the wrecks 
Of yestermorn’s illustrious hosts of war, 

Inglorious, fugitive, ashamed, alone, 

And soil’d with battle, dust, defeat, and blood. 

’Neath Ephraim’s vines the voice of minstrelsy 
And mirth is hush’d, and sorrowing maidens lift 
The loud lament—“ How are the mighty fallen ! 
Husbands, and sires, and sons, and brothers went 
To the leagued slaughter forth with pride and song ; 

But ah ! there dawns no light on their return ! 

And the eye aches with weeping as it looks 
Toward fatal Gilead’s fields whereon they lie. 

Weep, for the sword of the uncircumcised 
Hath thinn'd the chosen people ! Trail’d and tom 


PART VII.] AMERICAN POETS. 299 

Are Israel’s banners, and the Syrian 
Hath trodden down her plumes! Weep, for the throne 
Hath lost its monarch, and the kingless tribes 
Mourn valiant Ahab, who shall war no more— 

Samaria’s pool hath drunk his royal blood !” 

SECTION XII. 

CONCLUDING REMARKS ON AMERICAN POETS. 

There are many other poetical writers of whom our 
country may be allowed to boast, whom we have not 
room to notice. The books already referred to as 
containing selections from their writings must be con¬ 
sulted and read carefully before a just idea can be 
formed of the variety and extent of poetical talent 
among us. It should be considered, however, that 
most of our distinguished authors are engaged in pur¬ 
suits generally considered unfavorable to the efforts 
of genius. We have noticed only a few of the most 
prominent, leaving many other honored names to be 
sought for in the books from which we have had the 
privilege of quoting both specimens and criticisms. 

There is one gratification (says the N. Y. Evang.) 
in reading our best American poets—and this is em¬ 
phatically true of Bryant — we mean the purity of 
thought and sentiment which they maintain. How differ¬ 
ent from the poetry which emanated from some of 
the most celebrated of the British poets. From the 
days of Shakspeare, Dryden, and Pope, down to those 
of Byron and Shelley, much profaneness and vulgar¬ 
ity was intermingled. Milton, Cowper, Montgomery, 
and Wordsworth, with other names, are exceptions. 
Look at the new novels and magazines which every 
steamer introduces. How deeply and sadly polluted! 
Beside these, place the volumes of Bryant. What an 
honor to our country! What a noble testimony to 
the influence of our Puritan religion! When we con¬ 
template the manner in which we are exposed to cor¬ 
rupt foreign literature, we beseech our countrymen 
not only to be careful what they purchase from abroad, 
but to encourage most ardently the efforts of our own 
writers, who so well deserve our confidence a a the 
author of these poems (Bryant). 


300 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


[part VII. 


CHAPTER II. 

SECTION I. 

SKETCH OF AMERICAN LITERATURE SINCE 1815. 

The reasons why American literature has , until within 
the last twenty-jive or thirty years, been comparatively so 
scanty and generally inferior , are fully set forth by the 
North American Review for 1840, in the following 
manner: The period just referred to “ has been one of 
much greater activity than any that preceded it. It 
was divided by only one generation from the time 
when the American States were, as to productions of 
the intellect, in the helpless and sluggish condition 
almost inseparable from a condition of colonial de¬ 
pendence, and they had established their political ex¬ 
istence at a cost which it required the undivided at¬ 
tention of at least one generation to repair. The first 
business of the citizen, in his private walk, was to 
contrive to get rid of his debts, and to make some pro¬ 
vision for his family; while his less selfish thoughts 
were employed in watching, and helping the experi¬ 
ment of a new government. First came great pros¬ 
perity ; a uniform currency; commercial confidence ; 
profitable applications of inventive talent; vast de¬ 
mand for the products of an inexhaustible soil; the 
carrying trade of the world. Then followed terrible 
reverses: embargo; non-intercourse; war. The wheel 
of fortune was stopped with a crash, when its momen¬ 
tum was greatest ; and it was not till after the peace 
of 1815 that things settled down into such a state, 
that a portion Of the community could be spared for 
the laborious leisure of study, or even that individuals 
in active life, though of liberal tastes, could be expect¬ 
ed to feel much inclination in themselves, or impulse 
from others, to the tasks of authorship. 

“ Under such circumstances, the question of our 
learned Edinburgh brethren, Who reads an American 
book ? was really no more reasonable than it was cour¬ 
teous. It was not a thing to be fairly expected that 
America should have become a book-mart for the 


PART VII.] AMERICAN LITERATURE. 301 

world. And especially was it not to be expected so 
soon, when, if effected at all, it would necessarily be 
effected in the face of other, serious, and permanent 
disadvantages. A nation which produces genius and 
excitements for it, will sooner or later, no doubt, pro¬ 
duce a literature also. But those early and lower ef¬ 
forts, which lead to the higher, must suffer great dis¬ 
couragements, when, in consequence of community 
of language, they are brought at once into comparison 
with the best productions of another highly-cultivated 
society ; and when, from the same cause, there is an 
ample foreign supply, the excitements to literary la¬ 
bor (we speak not of those of a sordid kind, but of ev¬ 
ery kind whatever) must be materially diminished. 

“ Within the last few years, however, there is great 
difficulty found by our reviews in keeping up with the 
numerous issues of the American press. Even Eng¬ 
land has become a great market for our books, partic¬ 
ularly our school books, many of which are rapidly 
supplanting those of English manufacture on the same 
subjects. With the exception of a few books publish¬ 
ed in England, children’s books, also, by American au¬ 
thors, must be considered to possess superior value 
for their moral and intellectual adaptations to the 
young mind. In this department the Messrs. Abbot 
have gained a distinguished and just reputation. 

“Next to books of education, devotional, biblical, 
and theological works of American origin, have per¬ 
haps, as a class, obtained the widest circulation in 
England. Professor Stuart, Dr. Hodge, Dr. Robin¬ 
son, Professor Bush, Mr. Barnes, Mr. Norton, Dr. 
Noyes, Dr. Harris, Dr. Channing, and Dr. W. B. 
Sprague, have produced works that stand in high re¬ 
pute abroad, as well as at home. No living English 
writer of philosophical and critical essays enjoys a 
popularity equal to the late Dr. Channing. As to spec¬ 
imens of forensic, deliberative, and demonstrative elo¬ 
quence, there is no collection of works of any contem¬ 
porary English orator which, for a combination of all 
the attributes of high oratory, logic, fullness of facts, 
richness of illustration, pathos, wit, and chasteness, 
Cc 


302 AMERICAN LITERATURE. [PART VII. 

and force of language, can sustain comparison with 
those of Mr. Webster and Mr. Everett. In law, the 
learned works of Judge Story and Chancellor Kent 
are in high repute in England. Our medical literature, 
particularly that of the school of Philadelphia, is de¬ 
servedly eminent. In the department of mathemat-' 
ics, the commentary on the “Mechanique Celeste,” 
by the late Dr. Bowditch, is, by universal consent, one 
of the great productions of the age; while the valua¬ 
ble contributions to Natural Science, of Mr. Audubon, 
of Mr. Jay, of Professors Silliman, Godman, and Hare, 
of Dr. Bigelow, of Massachusetts, of Dr. Holbrook, of 
South Carolina, of Dr. Mprton, author of the “ Crania 
Americana,” and of many others, show that in that 
important department the minds of our countrymen 
are neither inactive nor incapable. In the arduous, 
recondite, and rather thankless task of philological in¬ 
vestigation, the labors of Webster, Duponceau, Patten, 
and Pickering, are to be ranked with those of the most 
distinguished scholars of the age.” 

“Washington Irving has, within the last thirty 
years, acquired a name, in his own elegant walk of 
literature, which throws into dim eclipse that of every 
English rival. The reputation of Cooper, of Miss 
Sedgwick, and of the author of the ‘ Letters from Pal¬ 
myra,’ is European. Kennedy, Bird, Fay, Mrs. Child, 
and some other writers of fiction, who have not yet 
gathered all their fame, have attracted favorable no¬ 
tice ; and we get nothing better from across the water 
in the way of noveletta and delineation of society and 
manners, than the spirited and delicious sketches of 
Hawthorne and Mrs. Kirkland. Among books of 
travels, few have been so well received, of late years, 
as those of Lieutenant Slidell and Mr. Stephens.” 

SECTION II. 

We shall take the liberty to draw from the Demo¬ 
cratic Review for July, 1844, remarks upon the present 
state of American literature , and its relations to that of 
England at the present time. 

“ Id some departments, we think American author* 


PART VII.] AMERICAN LITERATURE. 303 

of the present day may fairly claim an equal rank 
with their English rivals. In poetry, exclude the great 
name of Wordsworth, as the poet of a former era, 
and we challenge comparison between Dana, Bryant, 
Halleck, Holmes, Lowth, Willis, Street, and Long¬ 
fellow, and the remaining best living poets. They 
are fairly met on their own ground, and in their own 
vein of delicacy, taste, fancy, speculation, humor, 
pathos, and descriptive power, to say nothing of a 
mastery of style, rhythm, and the finest poetical dia¬ 
lect. Then, too, in humor, we have referred to Irving; 
there is Paulding, a strong satirist; Wirt, a delicate wit; 
Willis, full of sparkling gayety. In all England, we 
know not the writers of late who could surpass these 
four writers in their respective styles (to say nothing 
of a host of clever magazine sketches besides)—Irving, 
Dana, Willis, and Hawthorne. Rip Van Winkle is the 
best attempt of Irving; all of Dana’s romantic tales, 
as Paul Fellon, Edward and Mary, &c., are, we believe, 
without an equal in English contemporary literature. 
Willis, as a lighter writer, is the cleverest English and 
American author now living; and our prose poet, 
Hawthorne, can be paralleled only in Germany. We 
have three classic writers of history; we have pro¬ 
duced the best popular moralists of the day. Our or¬ 
ators have, in many cases, pronounced orations per¬ 
fectly admirable in their way, as those of Wirt, Ames, 
W'ebster, the Everetts. Since Canning’s time, we 
know of no elegant, pieces of political writing; no 
English models in oratory that read well. Our coun¬ 
try abounds with clever writers in periodicals of all 
kinds. We are beginning to have curious scholarship 
and profound speculation. From Jonathan Edwards 
to the present race of transcendentalists, we have in¬ 
quirers of all classes. A singular trait marks the 
writings of most of these ; an artifical finish hardly to 
be expected in so new a literature. Indeed, there has 
been far too much imitation and copying. We have 
many writers who would have done well any where 
by themselves, who have yet been at the pains of 
modeling themselves on some great masters. 


304 AMERICAN LITERATURE. fpARl VII. 

“We argue the gradual decline of English and American 
literature, not only from the number of merely clever 
writers and the general prevalence of imitation, but 
also from the love of periodical criticism, and the success 
with which it is cultivated. Criticism has always 
flourished in the absence of other kinds of genius ; it 
is best when others are in decay or gone, and this 
seems to us one of the most remarkable of the signs 
of the times. From the great increase, too, of periodical 
literature, most of the minor kinds of writing are more 
cultivated than the longer and more imposing. We 
have few histories and long poems, but abundance of 
critiques of all kinds, political, literary, theological, and 
characteristic essays, on all subjects, of manners, mor¬ 
als, medicine, and mercantile policy; sketches of life 
and scenery; letters from abroad and at home, tales, 
short biographies, and every possible variety of the 
lesser orders of poetry. 

“We apprehend that literature of this grade and char¬ 
acter—short, to the point, interesting, will be the pre¬ 
vailing literature for a long time to come. The chief 
instruction of the people, their main intellectual re¬ 
source of amusement, also, will be found in the peri¬ 
odical press. The infusion of popular feeling into our 
works of speculation; the great aims of reforming, en¬ 
lightening, and, in a word, educating the people, and 
impressing the importance of the individual—this is 
one of the great problems of the age, perhaps the prob¬ 
lem. To render man physically comfortable, and to 
give him sufficient occupation, of whatever sort cir¬ 
cumstances demand, is the primary duty of society; 
but, immediately next to that, to seek to elevate, and 
refine, deepen and expand the characters of all men, 
till they come to know, appreciate, and act upon the 
immutable principles of justice and humanity ; to rec¬ 
ognize one Father and Master above, and all brothers 
and equals below—this is the great lesson of life, the 
very object and end of being.” 


PART VII.] 


AMERICAN LITERATURE. 


305 


SECTION III. 

CONCLUDING REMARKS ON OUR NATIONAL LITERATURE. 

[ From , the North American Review of 1844.] 

The life of our native land—the inner spirit which 
animates its institutions—the new ideas and princi¬ 
ples of which it is the representative—these every 
patriot must wish to behold reflected from the broad 
mirror of a comprehensive and soul-animating liter¬ 
ature. The true vitality of a nation is not seen in the 
triumphs of its industry, the extent of its conquests, 
or the reach of its empire ; but in its intellectual do¬ 
minion. Posterity passes over statistical tables of 
trade and population, to search for the records of the 
mind and heart. It is of little moment how many 
millions of men were included at any time under the 
name of one people, if they have left no intellectual 
testimonials of their mode and manner of existence, 
no “ footprints on the sands of time.” Greece yet 
lives in her literature, more real to our minds, nearer 
to our affections, than many European kingdoms. 
The true monarchs of a country are those whose sway is 
over thought and emotion. 

America abounds in the material of poetry. Its his¬ 
tory, its scenery, the structure of its social life, the 
thoughts which pervade its political forms, the mean¬ 
ing which underlies its hot contests, are all capable of 
being exhibited in a poetical aspect. If we have a 
literature, it should be a national literature; no feeble 
or sonorous echo of Germany or of England, but es¬ 
sentially American in its tone and object. No matter 
how meritorious a composition may be, as long as any 
foreign nation can say it has done the same thing 
better, so long shall we be spoken of with contempt, 
or in a spirit of benevolent patronage. We begin to 
sicken of the custom, now so common, of presenting 
even our best poems to the attention of foreigners, 
with a deprecating, apologetic air; as if their accept¬ 
ance of the offering, with a few soft and silky com¬ 
pliments, would be an act of kindness demanding our 


306 AMERICAN LITERATURE. [PART VII. 

warmest acknowledgments. If the Quarterly Re¬ 
view or Blackwood’s Magazine speaks well of an 
American production, we think that we can praise it 
ourselves, without incurring the reproach of bad taste. 
The folly we yearly practice, of flying into a passion 
with some inferior English writer, who caricatures 
Our faults, and tells dull jokes about his tour through 
the land, has only the effect to exalt an insignificant 
scribbler into notoriety, and give a nominal value to 
his recorded impertinence. 

In order that America may take its due rank in the 
commonwealth of nations, a literature is needed which 
shall be the exponent of its higher life. We want a 
poetry which shall speak in clear, loud tones to the 
people; a poetry which shall make us more in love 
with our native land, by converting its ennobling 
scenery into the images of lofty thoughts; which shall 
give visible form and life to the abstract ideas of our 
written constitutions ; which shall confer upon virtue 
all the strength of principle and all the energy of 
passion; which shall disentangle freedom from cant 
and senseless hyperbole, and render it a thing of such 
loveliness and grandeur, as to justify all self-sacrifice; 
which shall make us love man by the new consecra¬ 
tions it sheds on his life and destiny; which shall vin¬ 
dicate the majesty of reason; give new power to the 
voice of conscience, and new vitality to human affec¬ 
tion ; soften and elevate passion; guide enthusiasm in 
a right direction; and speak out in the high language 
of men to a nation of men. 


PART VIII. 

SUPPLEMENTARY. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE DIVINE ORIGIN OF HUMAN LANGUAGE. 

[Supplementary to Chapter I., Part II.] 

The lirst use of words appears from Scripture to have 
been to communicate the thoughts of God. But how could 
this be done but in the words of God 1 Upon the creation 
of man, God blessed him and said , “ Be fruitful and multiply, 
and replenish the earth and subdue it,” &c. Having placed 
man in the garden, he laid a verbal command upon him not 
to eat of the fruit of a particular tree, while he informed 
him that he had liberty to eat of the fruit of every tree be¬ 
sides. When this command, unhappily, was violated, Jeho¬ 
vah is represented as entering into a conversation with 
Adam and Eve respecting their crime, and pronouncing 
sentence upon them. 

Moreover, we learn that about this early period Adam 
was qualified to bestow names upon the various animals 
that God caused to pass before him for this purpose. 

But how could Adam understand the addresses of his 
Maker, or name the animals before him, unless he had been 
divinely instructed in the meaning of the language made 
use of? He had had no opportunity to form a language 
for himself. He was, therefore, in a manner to us inexpli¬ 
cable, furnished with a knowledge of a certain amount of 
language. 

Mr. Wollaston contends that language is the indispensa¬ 
ble instrument of thought; and even Herder, who has la 
bored to prove language not to have been of divine ap¬ 
pointment, admits that without it reason can not be used 
by man. 

Now, if language be necessary to the exercise of reason, 
it clearly can not have been the result of human contrivance, 
or, according to Dr. Ellis, language can not be contrived 
without thought and knowledge ; but the mind can not have 
thought and knowledge till it has language * therefore lan- 



308 


CRITICISMS ON ADDISON. 


guage must be previously taught, before man could become 
a rational creature ; and none could teach him but God. 

Even the infidel Hobbes admits that “ the first author of 
speech was God himself, that instructed Adam how to name 
such creatures as he presented to his sight.” 

They who consider language to be ot mere human inven¬ 
tion are, for the most part, obliged to proceed on supposi¬ 
tions of the original state of man totally inconsistent with 
the Mosaic history. 

Moreover, a single instance can not be produced, in the 
whole range of history, of any human creatures ever using 
articulate sounds as the signs of ideas, unless taught, either 
immediately and at once by God, or gradually by those who 
had been themselves instructed. But there have instances 
been discovered of persons who, possessing all the natu¬ 
ral powers of mind and body, yet remained destitute of 
speech, from the want of an instructor. 

It may be added, that Adam is not the only instance 
which is recorded in Scripture of the instant communica¬ 
tion of language. The diversity of tongues occasioning 
the confusion at Babel, and the miraculous gift of speech 
to the apostles on the day of Pentecost, may render a 
similar exercise of divine power in the case of our first 
parents more readily admissible .—See Magee on Atonement. 


CHAPTER II. 

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE STYLE OF ADDISON. 

[This chapter is designed as a model for students in preparing 
written criticisms upon passages that may be selected from books 
by the teacher, or upon compositions written by members of the 
class in Rhetoric ; in which criticisms, should be investigated and 
set forth those qualities of style which have been discussed in 
Chapters ix.-xxi., Part ii.] 

EXAMPLE. 

1. “Our sight is the most perfect and most de¬ 
lightful of all our senses.” 

CHITICISM. .* 

This is an excellent introductory sentence. It is clear, 
precise, and simple. The author lays down, in a few plain 
words, the proposition which he intends to illustrate in the 
rest of the paragraph. In this manner we should always 



CRITICISMS ON ADDISON. 309 

set out. A first sentence should seldom be long, and never 
intricate. 

EXAMPLE. 

2. “It fills the mind with the largest variety of 
ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest dis¬ 
tance, and continues the longest in action, without 
being tired, or satiated with its proper enjoyments.” 

CBITICISM. 

This sentence is remarkably harmonious and well con¬ 
structed. It is perspicuous, and loaded with no super¬ 
fluous words ; for the terms, tired or satiated, refer to differ¬ 
ent members of the period, and convey distinct ideas, the 
first, to continuance of action, the latter to enjoyment. 

Unity is preserved. It is our sight of which he speaks. 
This is the object carried through the sentence and pre¬ 
sented in every member of it, by those verbs, Jills, converses , 
continues, to each of which it is clearly the nominative. 
Those capital words are disposed of in the most proper 
places, and that uniformity is maintained in the construc¬ 
tion of the sentence which suits the unity of the object. 

Observe, too, the music of the period ; consisting of three 
members, each of which grows and rises above the other 
in sound, till the sentence is conducted at last to a most 
melodious close. Enjoyments is a word of length and dig¬ 
nity, exceedingly proper for a close which is designed to be 
a musical one. The sound of the period thus arranged is 
just and proper with respect to the sense. It follows the 
order of nature. 

EXAMPLE. 

3. “The sense of feeling can, indeed, give us a 
notion of extension, shape, and all other ideas that 
enter at the eye, except colors; but, at the same 
time, it is very much straitened and confined in its 
operations to the number, bulk, and distance of its 
particular objects.” 

CRITICISM. 

* 

This sentence is neither clear nor elegant: Extension 
and shape can with no propriety be called ideas ; they are 
properties of matter. Nor is it accuse to speak of any 
sense giving us a notion of ideas; our senses give us the 
ideas themselves. The meaning would have been much 
more clear if the author had expressed himself thus : 
11 The sense of feeling, can, indeed, give us the idea of ex- 


310 


CRITICISMS ON ADDISON. 


tension, figure, and all the other properties of matter which 
are perceived by the eye, except colors.” 

The latter part of the sentence is still more embarrassed, 
for what meaning can we make of the sense of “feeling 
being confined in its operations to the number” &c. 1 Is not 
every sense equally confined to the number, bulk, and dis¬ 
tance of its own objects T 

The epithet particular, applied to objects in the conclusion 
of the sentence, is redundant, and conveys no meaning 
whatever. It seems to have been used in place of peculiar ; 
but these words, though often confounded, are of different 
import. Particular stands opposed to general; peculiar 
stands opposed to what is possessed in common with others. 

EXAMPLE- 

4. “ It is this sense which furnishes the imagination 
with its ideas ; so that by the pleasures of the imagi¬ 
nation or fancy (which I shall use promiscuously) I 
here mean such as arise from visible objects, either 
when we have them actually in our view, or when 
we call up their ideas into our minds by paintings, 
statues, descriptions, or any the like occasion.” 

CRITICISM. 

In place of, “ It is the sense which furnishes,” the author 
might have said more shortly, “ This sense furnishes.” 
But the former mode is here more proper, when a proposi¬ 
tion of importance is laid down, to which we seek to call 
attention. It is like pointing with the hand to the object 
of which we speak. 

The parenthesis is not clear. It should have been, terms 
which I shall use promiscuously; as the verb use relates not to 
the pleasures of the imagination, but to the terms of fancy 
and imagination, which he was to employ as synonymous. 

“ Any the like occasion.” To call a painting or statue 
an occasion is not a happy expression, nor is it very proper 
to speak of calling up ideas by occasions., The common 
phrase, “ any such means,” would have been more natural. 

EXAMPLE. 

5. There are few words in the English language 
which are employed in a more loose and uncircum¬ 
scribed sense than those of the fancy and the imagi¬ 
nation.” 


CRITICISMS ON ADDISON. 


311 


CRITICISM. 

The sentence could have been improved by reading thus : 
“Few words in the English language are employed in a’ 
more loose and uncircumscribed sense than fancy and 
imagination.” The reasons for the alteration are obvious. 

EXAMPLE. 

6. “ My design being, first of all, to discourse of 
those primary pleasures of the imagination which 
entirely proceed from such objects as are before our 
eyes ; and, in the next place, to speak of those second¬ 
ary pleasures of the imagination which flow from 
the ideas of visible objects, when the objects are not 
actually before the eye, but are called up into our 
memories, or formed into agreeable visions of things, 
that are either absent or fictitious.” 

CRITICISM. 

It is a great rule in laying down the division of a subject, 
to study neatness and brevity as much as possible. The 
divisions are then more distinctly apprehended, and more 
easily remembered. 

This sentence is not happy in that respect, being clogged 
with a tedious phraseology. By sparing several words the 
style would have been made more neat and compact. 

EXAMPLE. 

7. “A man of a polite imagination is let into a 
great many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable 
of receiving.” 

CRITICISM. 

“ Polite ” is a term more commonly applied to manners 
or behavior than to the mind or imagination. 

The use of the word that for a relative pronoun, instead 
of which , is a usage too frequent with Mr. Addison. Which 
is more definite than that , being used only as a relative 
pronoun, while the latter is a word of many senses ; some¬ 
times a demonstrative pronoun, sometimes a conjunction. 
That may be used sometimes as a relative, as when we 
refer to persons and things as antecedents, or wish to avoid 
the ungrateful repetition of which in the same sentence. 

EXAMPLE. 

8. “ He can converse with a picture, and find an 
agreeable companion in a statue. Ho meets with a 


312 


CRITICISMS ON ADDISON. 


secret refreshment in a description, and often feels 
a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and 
meadows than another does in the possession. It 
gives him, indeed, a kind of property in every thing 
he sees, and makes the most rude, uncultivated parts 
of nature administer to his pleasures; so that he looks 
upon the world, as it were, in another light, and dis¬ 
covers in it a multitude of charms that conceal them¬ 
selves from the generality of mankind.” 

CRITICISM. 

All this, is very beautiful. The illustration is happy. 
The style runs with the greatest ease and harmony. 

But there is some negligence. The first instance is in 
the sentence beginning with, “ It gives him, indeed,” &c. 
To this it there is no proper antecedent in the whole para¬ 
graph, and to find one we must look back to the third sen¬ 
tence before this. The phrase polite imagination is the only 
antecedent to which this it can refer ; and even that is an 
improper antecedent, as it stands in the genitive (possessive) 
case, as the qualification only of a man. 

The other instance of negligence begins with, “so that 
he looks upon the world, as it were, in another light." By 
another light the author means, a light different from that 
in which other men view the world, but this meaning is 
conveyed very indistinctly to other minds. 

As it were is a phrase that should scarcely ever be used, 
and here there was no occasion for it. The whole of this 
last member, beginning with “ so that he looks," &c., might 
with advantage be omitted altogether, as the ideas are con¬ 
veyed in what goes before it. 

Dr. Blair has devoted four entire lectures to a critical examina¬ 
tion of the style of Addison’s Spectator, Nos. 411-414, which form 
an exceedingly valuable part of his work on Rhetoric. It would 
be well for teachers of the work in hand to write upon a black¬ 
board, or (what is better) they might require their students to 
write upon slates or on paper, the passages from the Spectator, 
and then deliberately read to their classes the elaborate, judicious, 
and tasteful criticisms of Dr. Blair. Occasionally, however, it 
may be remarked, Dr. Blair’s own language stands open to criti 
cism. 


CRITICISMS ON PARADISE LOST. 


313 


CHAPTER III. 

CRITICAL NOTES UPON A PORTION OP PARADISE LOST. 

[This chapter is derived from an anonymous London work, and 
is proposed as a model of criticism where figurative language is 
concerned, particularly in poetic composition.] 

SATAN’S SPEECH.-Paradise Lost, Book ii., 1. 11. 

The debate is opened by Satan, and his speech 
should naturally turn, in the first place, on vindicating 
his right to preside; and, in the second place, on the 
subject for which they are met, that is, how they are 
to regain their lost inheritance. 

This division is extremely simple, but it is very 
oratorical, as it affords Milton the opportunity of char¬ 
acterizing Satan by his known vice, Pride, which he 
displays while he assorts his right to pre-eminence 
Pow’rs and dominions, deities of heav’n ; 

For, since no deep within her gulf can hold 
Immortal vigor, though oppress’d and fall’n, 

I give not heav’n for lost. From this descent 
Celestial virtues rising, will appear 15, 

More glorious and more dread than from no fall, 

And trust themselves to fear no second fate. 

Me, though just right, and the fix’d laws of heaven, 

Book II., 1. 11.—Satan’s character is seen in the very first line* 
of his address. It is all pomp, but the climax is masterly: first, 
lie compliments them with strength , then with strength added 
to dominion ; and lastly, strength and dominion crowned with god¬ 
head. In the last word of this line there is artful encouragement, 
which he proves in the three following lines. 

L. 12.—Here you may observe a bold Pleonasm, used by Milton 
to paint the dreadful profundity of hell; for saying a deep holds 
within its gulf, is the same thing as a deep holds within its deep • 
but the poet felt the force of the imagery, and ventured the figure. 

L. 15.— Celestial virtues. Here the cause is elegantly used for 
the effect, for virtue inspires confidence on the knowledge of its 
own rectitude, and vigor and exertion are the result. The 
demons are therefore called Celestial Virtues, alluding to the im¬ 
mortal vigor which Satan bestows upon them, in order to encour¬ 
age them to reascend to heaven. 

L. 18.—Here, and in two or three of the following lines, he 
enumerates his reasons for supremacy: (1 ) just right, suggested by 
pride ; (2) fate , here called the fixed laws of heaven ; (3) free choice 
of his subjects; (4, 5) merit in council , and merit in fight, are only 
glanced at. 

Do 


314 


CRITICISMS ON PARADISE LOST. 


Did first create your leader, next free choice, 

With what besides, in counsel or in fight, 20 

Hath been achieved of merit, yet this loss 
Thus far at least recover’d, hath much more 
Establish’d in h safe, unenvied throne, 

Yielded with full consent. The happier state 

In heav’n, which follows dignity, might draw 25 

Envy from each inferior ; but who here 

Will envy whom the highest place exposes 

Foremost to stand against the Thunderer’s aim, 

Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share 
Of endless pain 1 Where there is then no good 30 

For which to strive, no strife can grow up there 
From faction; for none sure will claim in hell 
Precedence; none, whose portion is so small 

L. 26 presents a sixth reason (i. e.), none will dispute prece¬ 
dence in sufferings with him. This is not barely hinted at, but 
introduced by a bold Interrogation : “ Who here will envy V 

L. 27.— Whom the highest place exposes , &c. This is one of 
those bold strokes of imagery for which Milton is distinguished. 

L. 28.— Thunderer. Synecdoche ; that is, a part for the whole, 
for he that can do all things can likewise thunder; and as this 
exertion of his power is peculiarly alarming, we borrow from it 
the appellation of the author. 

L. 29.— Your bulwark. A Metaphor. A mound raised to with¬ 
stand the impetuosity of the sea is a bulwark. It conveys an 
idea of the evils Satan will have to support, to save his infernal 
associates from the wrath of the Divinity. 

L. 30.—Here is an instance of a beautiful oratorical Sorites , a 
kind of argument in which, generally, the predicate of one propo¬ 
sition is made the subject of the one that follows-, and the subject 
of the first is also the subject of the last proposition, or conclu¬ 
sion, as when Themistocles argued in regard to his son, a boy of 
three years old, “ My son commands his mother; his mother com- 

« ands me ; I command the Athenians ; the Athenians command 
teece; Greece commands Europe; Europe commands the whole 
earth: therefore my son commands the whole earth.” 

The example before us is not quite so complete, or strictly 
logical: 

Where there is no good to be gained there can be no strife; 
Where there is no strife there can be no faction; 

* And where there is no faction there must be union. 

$yrhis sorites ends in 1. 36. 

L. 31. —No strife can grow up there from faction. A metaphor, 
so much the more just, as it may be applied to a noxious weed. 
Ta 32, 33 —A persuasive repetition of nom. 


CRITICISMS ON PARADISE LOST. 315 

Of present pain, that with ambitious mind 

Will covet more. With this advantage, then, 35 

To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 

More than can be in heav’n, we now return 
To claim our just inheritance of old, 

Surer to prosper than prosperity 

Could have assured us ; and by what best way, 40 

Whether of open war or covert guile, 


We now debate: who can advise, may speak. 

MOLOCH’S SPEECH 

If the former speech is characteristic, this is not 
less so. It paints the fierce spirit, who is now fiercer 
by despair, as Milton beautifully expresses it: the four 
lines he gives us on this subject are inimitable. 

His trust was with the Eternal to be deem’d 
Equal in strength, and rather than be less, 

Cared not to be at all; with that care lost, 

Went all his fear: of God, or hell, or worse, 

He reck’d not. 

My sentence is for open war: of wiles 51 

More unexpert, I boast not: them let those 
Contrive who need, or when they need, not now. 

For while they sit contriving, shall the rest, 

Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 55 

The signal to ascend, sit lingering here 
Heav’n’s fugitives, and for their dwelling place 

L. 34, 35.— Ambitious mind will covet more. Here one passion 
borrows an expression from another, that is, ambition has recourse 
to avarice for the term covet, in order to strengthen the idea. * 

L. 37.— More than can be in heaven. This is an artful oratorical 
consequence, from the supposition that there must be envy in 
heaven on account of dignity, and none in hell on account of 
pain. 

L. 39, 40.—A rational antithesis and jeu de mots : surer to pros¬ 
per than prosperity could have assured us. 

L. 41.— Open war or covert guile. A second antithesis, concise 
and simple. 

L. 51.—An abrupt exordium, well suiting the stern spirit who 
utters it. The contrast and alliteration of war and wiles owe much 
of their beauty to their conciseness. 

L. 55.—A grand image. Millions that stand in arms. Sullen- 
ness generally proposes its arguments in disdainful interrogations. 
u Shall the rest sit lingering here” &c. 


316 


CRITICISMS ON PARADISE LOST. 


Accept this dark, opprobrious den of shame, 

The prison of his tyranny who reigns 
By our delay 1 No, let us rather choose, 60 

Arm’d with hell-flames and fury, all at once 
O’er heav’n’s high towers to force resistless way, 

Turning our tortures into horrid arms 

Against the Torturer ; when to meet the noise 

Of his infernal engine he shall hear 65 

Infernal thunder, and for lightning see 

Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 

Among his angels, and his throne itself 

Mix’d with Tartarean sulphur, and strange fire, 

His own invented torments. But perhaps 70 

The way seems difficult and steep, to scale 
With upright wing against a higher foe. 

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still. 

That in our proper motion w T e ascend 75 

Up to our native seat: descent and fall 
To us is adverse. 

******* 

******* 

L. 58.— Den of shame. Shame is here personified. The prison 
of his tyranny , that is, which his tyranny nas made: an example 
of ellipsis. 

L. 61.— Arm'd with hell-flames and fury. A bold catachresis. 
See p. 103. 

L. 63.—The idea of turning his tortures into arms is nobly dia¬ 
bolical. Here the effect is put for the cause by metonymy. 

L. 67.— See black fire and horror shot. There is a catachresis in 
the sense of the word black, as it is here applied io fire, there being 
an allusion to the revolving smoke with which the fire is enveloped. 
To shoot horror is a metonymy, as it gives the effect for the cause. 

L. 69.— Tartarean. Allusion to the hell of the Gentiles. See 
ch. xxxvii., pt. ii. 

Strange fire. Allusion to the Sacred Scriptures. They offered 
strange fire before the Lord. —Levit. 

L. 71, 72.— To scale vnth upright wing. A striking image. The 
metaphor is taken from fortification. 

L. 73.— The sleepy drench off that forgetful lake. Allusion to the 
River Lethe. 

L. 75.—There is a beautiful simile in these words artfully con¬ 
veyed to the mind without expressing it; we conceive the infernal 
spirits to resemble pyramids of fire, whose proper motion is to 
ascend. 


DEFINITIONS AND DESCRIPTIONS. 317 


CHAPTER IV. 

DEFINITIONS AND DESCRIPTIONS. 

In the discussion and exhibition of truth, the shortest 
and clearest way is to begin with a good definition or descrip¬ 
tion of the thing before you. Obscurity, contradiction, and, 
of course, much wrangling, even error itself, will almost 
always disappear, if you take care previously to fix the 
state of the question, and explain the point which you 
mean to establish. One single judicious definition throws 
light upon a whole speech , a dissertation, and even a whole work. 
False reasoning and absurd contentions generally spring 
from error in, or the omission of, a definition or description. 

A good logical definition explains the thing that it defines 
in terms more clear than those in which it is conveyed. 
There must not be a single word of it without its use: it 
must comprehend all the thing that is to be defined, and 
that thing only ; that is to say, that under what light soever 
you consider an object, its definition should agree to it, and 
to it alone. 

The rules of an oratorical or poetical definition are the 
same as those of a logical definition; that is, both must 
give a clear and distinct idea of the things they define; but 
the orator and the poet, in place of confining themselves to 
the nature of objects, consider them sometimes in their 
causes, and sometimes in their effects." Thus it is, that by 
means of accessory ideas you will observe their definitions 
skirted with all the brilliancy of imagination. 

Take, for example, a translation of Cicero’s definition of 
praise: it is oratorical: 

“ Praise is the well-merited applause for upright actions 
and public-spirited achievements, approved of not only b; 
the good in particular, but by the world in general.” 

As a logician, Cicero would have reduced it to this: 
« Praise is honorable mention frequently made of a person.” 
But as an orator, he is equally exact, and much more in¬ 
teresting, by the harmonious display of the causes of praise* 
and of those by whom it is given. 

The following is a charming definition of thought: 

u The hermit’s solace in his cell, 

The fire that warms the poet’s brain; 

The lover’s heaven or his hell, 

The madman’s sport, the wise man’s pain.” 

D d 2 


318 DEFINITIONS AND DESCRIPTIONS, 


There are three different oratorical ways of defining. 

The first , is to convey the thing to be defined to the un¬ 
derstanding, by stripping it of its properties and qualifica¬ 
tions. 

Thus, Tully, in his oration for Cluentius, defines a mother 
by demanding, 

“Is this a mother? A woman unsexed by cruelty and stained with 
murder; a woman, whose passions hurried through every species of turpi¬ 
tude ; whose wretched folly is such that you can not give her the name of 
man, whose violence is such that she can not be called a woman, and whose 
barbarity is so great that nobody will dare to call her a mother ?” 

A second way of defining oratorically, is to divest the 
object of all that is foreign to it, and dress it in its own 
properties. 

Thus Tully, again: 

“ For I do believe that men of your great birth and high views, however 
the credulous may suspect the contrary, have never set your hearts upon 
money, the contempt of the first in rank as well as of the first in power ; 
nor property wrested from the lawful owners; nor excessive power, the 
abhorrence of the Roman people ; but what you all thirsted after was the 
love of your fellow-citizens, -and the glory of the Republic.” 

The third way of defining, is by expressing the contrary 
or opposite, as well as the inherent qualities. 

“ The very name of peace is sweet; peace itself is salutary. Bull there 
is a world of difference between peace and bondage. Peace is tranquil 
liberty ; bondage the worst of all evils. We should not only rise in arms 
against it, but die the worst of deaths sooner than yield to it.” 

In the first of the above examples a mother is defined by 
those qualifications which directly oppose and destroy the 
softer ideas that nature has attached to that endearing 
name. This made for the orator’s purpose. Had he sim¬ 
ply defined Sapia to have been the woman who gave birth 
to Cluentius, he would not have rendered her the object of 
public execration, as he has most effectually done. 

In the second example Tully defines a true lover of his 
country, by informing us what a man of this description 
would do, and what he would avoid doing, for the sake of 
his country. 

In the third example he displays the nature of peace , by 
happily contrasting it with the very worst effect of an op¬ 
posite situation, bondage. 


The strictness required in logical definitions renders 
them extremely uncommon ; hence the necessity of fre¬ 
quently having recourse to descriptions, whic.h do not, like 



ON THE INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 319 


the former, describe the nature of a thing, but present 
merely some discriminative qualities. 

The general rule in describing an object is, strongly to 
characterize it in those parts which are of the greatest im¬ 
portance to your purpose. 

Congreve thus, in part, describes a coquet, in accord¬ 
ance with this rule: 

* * * * * 

***** 

“ Careless she is, with artful care, 

Affecting to seem unaffected. 

* * it it 

She likes herself, yet others hates, 

For that which in herself she prizes; 

And, while she laughs at them, forgets 
She is the thing that she despises.” 


CHAPTER V. 

RULES FOR THE INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 

[From Blair and Whatele^.] 

1. The introduction should not be planned until the 
writer has considered the main body or substance of the 
discourse. Let that suggest the introduction, which will 
then be appropriate, natural, and easy. 

2. Correctness should be carefully studied in the expres¬ 
sion, yet too much art must be avoided, because hearers or 
readers are more disposed to criticise at first than at a 
subsequent period. 

3. Modesty, united with becoming dignity and sense of 
the importance or interest of the subject, should charac¬ 
terize an introduction. It should not promise more than 
the body of the discourse will sustain. 

4. It should usually be carried on in a calm manner. 
The exceptions to this rule are, when the subject is such 
that the very mention of it naturally awakens some pas¬ 
sionate emotion ; or when the unexpected presence of 
some person or object, in a popular assembly, inflames the 
speaker. 

5. The introduction should not anticipate any material 
part of the subject, destroying or impairing the novelty of 
what follows. 



320 ON THE INTRODUCTION OF A DISCOURSE. 


6. It should be proportioned, both in length and in kind, 
to the discourse that is to follow. 

VARIOUS KINDS OF INTRODUCTIONS. 

1. Introduction Inquisitive. —The design of this is to show 
that the subject in question is important , curious , or other¬ 
wise interesting,' and worthy of attention.—See the beginning 
of Paley’s Natural Theology. 

2. Introduction Paradoxical. —It will frequently happen, 
when the point to be proved or explained is one which may 
be very fully established, or on which there is little or no 
doubt, that it may, nevertheless, be strange, and different 
from what might have been expected. 

In this case, it will often have a good effect in rousing 
the attention to set forth as strongly as possible this para¬ 
doxical character, and dwell on the seeming improbability 
of that which must, after all, be admitted.—See Paley’s Mor. 
Phil., Book iii., Part i., Chap, i., ii. 

3. Introduction Corrective. —This is employed when you 
show that the subject has been neglected, misunderstood, or 
misrepresented by others. This will, in many cases, remove 
a most formidable obstacle in the hearer’s mind, the antici¬ 
pation of triteness, if the subject be, or may be supposed 
to be, a hackneyed one; and it may also serve to remove or 
loosen such prejudices as might be adverse to the favora¬ 
ble reception of our arguments. 

4. Introduction Preparatory. —It will often happen, also, 
that there may be need to explain some peculiarity in the 
mode of reasoning to be adopted; to guard against some 
possible mistake as to the object proposed ; or to apologize 
for some deficiency. 

5. Introduction Narrative. —There may sometimes be oc¬ 
casion to put the reader or hearer in possession of the out¬ 
line of some transaction, or the description of some state 
of things, to which references and allusions are to be made 
in the course of the composition. 

Sometimes two or more of the introductions may advan 
tageously be combined. 



ON THE DIVISION OP A SUBIECT. 321 


CHAPTER VI. 

OP THE DIVISION OF A SUBJECT-RULES. 

[Chiefly from Watts’s Logic.] 

Rule I. Take care that all the members of your 
division, when taken together, be equal to the whole 
which you divide, containing neither more nor less. 

The ancient division of the earth into Europe, Asia, and 
Africa, was defective, because these three parts do not 
make up the world. If, in writing about a tree, you divide 
it into the trunk and leaves, the division is imperfect, be¬ 
cause the root and the branches are needful to make up the 
whole. 

A division may also be erroneous by exhibiting more 
parts than the object contains. 

Rule II. In all divisions, present first the larger 
and more important parts of the subject. 

In speaking of a kingdom, it would not be expedient to 
consider first the streets, lanes, or fields, but the provinces 
or counties. The counties may be divided into towns, vil¬ 
lages, fields, &c.; the towns into streets and lanes. 

Rule III. One part of a division ought not to con¬ 
tain another. 

It would be a ridiculous division of an animal into head, 
limbs, body, and brain, for the brains are contained in the 
head. 

This rule is violated in the following proposition : “ Will¬ 
iam has done harm to the state, not only by his factious 
discourses, but also by his sowing every where the seeds of 
disturbance.” 

Here the error is, that you can not speak factiously with¬ 
out sowing the seeds of disturbance, so that, in fact, you 
seem to divide without really doing so. 

Rule IV. Divisions and subdivisions, instead of 
being witty and florid, should be obvious and simple, 
and not too numerous. 

They should never fatigue the mind nor confuse the 
memory ; they should draw the subject forth, and not bury 
it; they should always interest, and never tire the reader 
or hearer. 


322 THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DISCOURSE. 


Cicero is always clear and simple in his divisions. R. 
Amerinus is accused of having killed his father. To prove 
his innocence and the guilt of his accusers, Cicero thus 
lays out his argument: 

“ R. Amerinus has not killed his father, because he had 
no motive to induce him to commit the crime ; and be¬ 
cause, though he had had a reason, the means were not in 
his power. The accusers themselves are guilty of the 
deed, because they had motives that urged them on to the 
perpetration of it, and the means of effecting their bloody 
, purpose.” 

Rule V. Divide every subject according to the 
special design you have in view. 

A printer, in considering the subject of a book, would 
divide it into sheets, pages, lines, and letters. 

A grammarian would consider the periods, the sentences, 
the words of which the book was composed. 

A logician considers a book as divided into chapters, 
sections, arguments, propositions, ideas. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DISCOURSE. 

[From Whateley and Watts.] 

In the invention of arguments art can give but little as¬ 
sistance, though it may aid much in the disposition and 
conduct of arguments when invented. 

There are two methods of reasoning , the analytic and syn¬ 
thetic. 

The analytic is, when the orator conceals his intention 
concerning the point he is to prove till he has gradually 
brought his hearers to tlye designed conclusion. This is 
about the same as the Socratic method, by which Socrates 
silenced the sophists of his age. It is a vfery artful method 
of reasoning, may be carried on with much beauty, and is 
proper to be used when readers or hearers are much prej¬ 
udiced against any truth, and by imperceptible steps must 
be led to conviction. But there are few subjects that will 
admit this method, and not many occasions on which it is 
proper to be employed. 



THE ARGUMENTATIVE PART OF A DISCOURSE. 323 


The mode of reasoning more generally used, and more 
suited to popular effect, is the synthetic; when the point to 
r be proved is fairly laid down, and one argument after 
another is made to bear upon it, till the hearers are fully 
convinced. 

In arguing, the first business is to choose the lest argu¬ 
ments for the cause, the occasion, and the hearers or readers. 
To do this, imagine yourself to occupy the place of those 
you are to address, and think how they will be likely to be 
affected by the arguments you propose to use, and adapt 
them to each. 

Supposing the arguments skillfully chosen, the effect of 
them will depend not a little upon their right arrangement, 
so as that they shall not jostle nor embarrass one another, 
but give mutual aid, and bear most directly on the point in 
view. 

RULES FOR ARRANGEMENT OF ARGUMENTS. 

1. Avoid blending arguments confusedly together that 
are of a separate nature. 

All arguments whatever are directed to prove one or 
other of these three things : that something is true ; that 
it is morally right or fit; or that it is profitable and good. 
These make the three great subjects of discussion among 
mankind: truth, duty, and interest. But the arguments 
directed to either of them are generally distinct; and he 
who blends them under one topic will render his reasoning 
indistinct and inelegant. 

2. With regard to the different degrees of strength in 
arguments , the general rule is to advance in the way of 
climax , especially when the reasoner has a clear cause, 
and is confident that he can prove it truly. 

If he distrusts his cause, and has but one material argu¬ 
ment, it is often proper to place this in front to preoccupy 
the ground and procure a more favorable regard to the rest 
of the argument. 

3. When our arguments are strong and satisfactory , 
the more they are distinguished and treated apart from 
each other the better. 

But if our arguments are doubtful and only of the pro* 
^umptive kind, it is safer to throw them together in a 
crowd, and run them Into one another for mutual supports 


324 RULES FOR AN ADDRESS TO THE PASSIONS. 

4. Be cautious not to extend arguments too far, and 
not to multiply them too much. 

Such a practice serves rather to render a cause suspect¬ 
ed than to give it weight; it both burdens the memory and 
detracts from the weight of that conviction which a few 
well-chosen arguments carry. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

RULES FOR AN ADDRESS TO THE PASSIONS. 

[From Blair and Whateley.] 

1. Good sense must determine ivhether the subject ad¬ 
mit the pathetic, and if it does, in what part of the dis¬ 
course it should be introduced. 

2. If we expect any emotion which we raise to 

have a lasting effect, we must be careful to bring over 
to our side, in the first place, the understanding and judg¬ 
ment. \ 

3. An important point to be observed in every address 
to any passion, sentiment, or feeling, is, that it should not 
be introduced as such, and plainly avowed. 

The effect otherwise will be, in great measure, if not en¬ 
tirely, lost; for there is a wide distinction, in this respect, 
between an address to the passions and to the understand¬ 
ing. 

4. It must be observed that there is a great difference 
between showing persons that they ought to be moved and 
actually moving them. 

To every emotion or passion nature has adapted a set 
of corresponding objects; and, without setting these before 
the mind, it is not in the power of any orator to raise that 
emotion. 

Hence the object of that passion which we desire to 
raise' in others must be painted in the most natural and 
striking manner; it must be described with such circum¬ 
stances as are likely to awaken the passion or feeling in the 
minds of others. But to accomplish this effectually, you 
must be moved yourself. 


RULES FOR AN ADDRESS TO THE PASSIONS. 325 

5. In order effectually to excite feelings of any kind, 
it is necessary to employ some copiousness of detail , and 
to dwell somewhat at large on the several cirafcim- 
stances of the case in hand. 

In this respect there is a wide distinction between strict 
argumentation with a view to the conviction of the under¬ 
standing alone, and the attempt to influence the will by the 
excitement of any emotion. 

With respect to argument itself, indeed, different occa¬ 
sions will call for different degrees of copiousness, repeti¬ 
tion, and expansion ; the chain of reasoning employed 
may, in itself, consist of more and fewer links; abstruse 
and complex arguments must be unfolded at greater length 
than such as are more simple ; and the more uncultivated 
the audience, the more full must be the explanation and 
illustration, and the more frequent the repetition of the 
arguments presented to them; but still the same general 
principle prevails in all these cases; viz., to aim merely at 
letting the arguments be fully understood and admitted; but 
all expansion and repetition beyond what is necessary to 
accomplish conviction, is in every instance tedious and dis¬ 
gusting. 

On the contrary, in a description of any thing that is 
likely to act on the feelings, this effect will by no means be 
produced as soon as the understanding is sufficiently in- 
fornled. Detail and expansion are here not only admissi¬ 
ble, but absolutely necessary, in order that the mind may 
have leisure and opportunity to form vivid and distinct 
ideas. 

It is related that a whole audience were moved to tears 
by a minute detail of the circumstances connected with the 
death of a youthful pair at the battle of Fontenay, though 
they had previously listened without emotion to a general 
statement of the dreadful carnage in that engagement. 

It is not, however, with a view to the feelings only that 
some copiousness of detail will occasionally be needful; it 
will often happen that the judgment can not be correctly 
formed without dwelling on circumstances. 

6. It is not, however, always advisable to enter into 
a direct detail of circumstances, which might warn the 
hearer or reader beforehand of the design laid against 
hi^feelings. It is often better to introduce only tha 

E s 


326 RULES FOR AN ADDRESS TO THE PASSIONS. 


circumstances connected with the main object or 
event, and affected by it, but not absolutely forming 
a part of it. 

Thus the woman’s application to the King of Samaria, to 
compel her neighbor to fulfill the agreement of sharing with 
her the infant’s flesh, gives a more frightful impression of 
the horrors of the famine than any more direct description 
could have done ; since it presents to us the picture of that 
destruction of the ordinary state of human feeling, which 
is the result of long-continued and extreme misery. 

Nor could any detail of the particular vexations suffered 
by the exiled Jews for their disobedience convey so lively 
an idea of them as that description of their result contained 
in the denunciation of Moses : “ In the evening thou shalt 
say, Would God it were morning! and in the morning thou 
ehalt say, Would God it were evening!” 

Shakspeare, in the speech of Antony over Caesar’s body, 
has offered some excellent exemplifications of this rule. 

7. Comparison is one powerful means of exciting or 
heightening any emotion; namely, by presenting a 
parallel between the case in hand and some other 
that is calculated to call forth such emotions; taking 
care, of course, to represent the present case as 
stronger than the one it is compared with, and such 
as ought to affect us more powerfully. 

Men feel naturally more indignant at a slight affront 
offered to themselves, or those closely connected with 
them, than at the most grievous wrong done to a stranger ; 
if, therefore, you would excite their utmost indignation in 
such a case, it must be by comparing it with a parallel case 
that concerns themselves; i. e., by leading them to con¬ 
sider how they would feel were such and such an injury 
done to themselves. 

And, on the other hand, if you would lead them to a just 
sense of their own faults, it must be by leading them to 
contemplate like faults in others ; of which the celebrated 
parable of Nathan, addressed to David, affords an admira¬ 
ble instance. 


ON REASONING, 


327 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONCLUSION OF A DISCOURSE. 

1. It must vary with the strain of the preceding dis¬ 
course. Sometimes it consists of the pathetic part. Some¬ 
times, when the discourse has been entirely argumentative, 
it is fit to conclude with summing up the arguments, placing 
them in one view, and leaving the impression of them, fuh 
and strong, on the mind of the audience. 

2. The conclusion should not be too abrupt; nor, on the 
other hand, so long as to excite the hearer’s impatience, 
after he has been led to expect an end. 

3. The great rule of a conclusion, and what nature ob¬ 
viously suggests, is, to place that last on which we choose 
that the strength of our cause should rest. 


CHAPTER X. - 

GENERAL RULES AND HINTS TO DIRECT OUR REASONING. 

[From Watt’s Logic.] 

1. Accustom yourself to clear and distinct ideas , to 
evident propositions , to convincing arguments. 

Converse much with those friends, and those books, 
and those parts of learning where you meet with the 
greatest clearness of thought and force of reasoning. 

The habit of conceiving clearly, of judging justly, 
and of reasoning well, is to be learned only by effort 
and practice. It should be commenced in early life. 

2. Enlarge your general acquaintance with things daily, 
in order to attain a rich furniture of topics , whereby those 
propositions which occur may he either proved or disproved ; 
but especially meditate and inquire , with great diligence 
and exactness , into the nature , properties , circumstances , 
and relations of the particular subject about which you 
judge or argue. 

Consider its causes, effects, adjuncts, opposites, 
signs, &c., so far as is needful to your present pur- 



32 $ 


ON REASONING. 


pose; extend your views, as far as possible, to every 
thing that has a connection with the subject. 

3. In your investigations , always keep the precise point 
of the present question in your eye. Add nothing to it 
while you are arguing, nor omit any part of it. Keep 
the precise matter of inquiry as simple as may be, 
disengaged from other ideas. 

4. In choosing arguments to prove any point, always 
take such as carry the greatest evidence with them. Care 
less about the number than the weight of your argu¬ 
ments. 

Yet there are many cases in which the growing 
number of probable arguments increases the degree of 
probability, and gives satisfactory confirmation to the 
truth which is sought or advocated. 

5. Prove your conclusion {as far as possible) by some 
propositions that are in themselves more plain and evident 
than the conclusion; or, at least, such as are more known 
to the person whom you would convince. 

6. Neither impose upon yourselves, nor allow yourselves 
to be imposed upon by others, by mistaking a mere illus¬ 
tration for a convincing argument. 

A too great deferenc^^paid to similitudes, and an 
utter rejection of them, seem to be two extremes, 
and ought to be avoided. 

7. In your whole course of reasoning , keep your mind 
and the minds of others sincerely intent on the pursuit of 
truth, and follow sound argument wheresoever it 
leads you. Let not party spirit, nor any passion or 
prejudice, stop or turn aside the current of your rea¬ 
soning in quest of true knowledge. 

Maintain a true regard, therefore, to the arguments 
and objections on both sides of a question ; consider, 
compare, and balance them well before you determine 
for one side. 

When we espouse opinions through the influence 
merely of fear, hope, honor, credit, interest, or any 
other prejudice, and then seek arguments only to sup¬ 
port those opinions, we have neither done our duty to 
God nor to ourselves. 

The power of reasoning was given by our Maker 


ON THE COMMUNICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 329 

for this very end, to pursue truth; and we abuse one 
of his richest gifts if we basely yield it up, to be led 
astray by any of the meaner powers of nature, or the 
perishing interests of this life. Reasoning itself, if 
honestly obeyed, will lead us to receive the divine 
revelation of the Gospel, where it is duly proposed, 
and this will show us the path of life everlasting. 


CHAPTER XI. 

RULES OF METHOD IN THE PURSUIT OR COMMUNICATION 
OF KNOWLEDGE. 

[From Watts’s Logic.] 

Rule I. It must be safe or secure from error. 

To this end, observe these four directions. 

(1.) Use great care in laying the foundation of your dis¬ 
course, or your scheme of thoughts upon any subject. 

Those propositions which are to stand as first principles, 
and on which the whole argument depends, must be viewed 
on all sides with the utmost accuracy, lest an error, being 
admitted there, should diffuse itself over the whole subject. 

(2.) It is advisable not only to adopt as fundamental 
propositions those which are evident and true, but to ren¬ 
der them familiar to the mind, by dwelling upon them before 
you proceed farther. 

This will enable you to draw consequences from them 
with more freedom, with greater variety, and with brighter 
evidence than if you have but a slight and hasty view of 
them. 

(3.) As you proceed in the argument, see that your 
ground be made firm at every step. 

See that every link of your chain of reasoning be strong 
and good. 

(4.) Draw up all your propositions and arguments with 
so much caution, and express your ideas with such a just 
limitation, as may preclude or anticipate any objections. 
If, however, such cautious limitations should render the 
ideas too much complicated, or the sense obscure, then it 
is better .to keep the argument more simple and easy to be 
understood, and afterward mention the objections dis- 
E e 2 



330 ON THE COMMUNICATION OF KNOWLEDGE. 


tinctly in their full strength, and give a distinct answer to 
them. 

Rule II. Let your method be plain and easy, so that 
your hearers or readers, as well as yourself, may run 
through it without embarrassment, and may take a 
dear and comprehensive view of the whole scheme. 

In order to this : 

(1.) Begin always with those things that are best known 
and most obvious, so that the mind may have no difficulty 
or fatigue, and proceed by regular and easy steps to things 
that are more difficult. 

(2.) Crowd not too many thoughts into one sentence or 
paragraph beyond the capacity of your readers or hearers. 
For the same reason, avoid too many subdivisions. 

Rule III. Let your method be distinct, and without 
the perplexing mixture of things that ought to be kept 
separate. 

Rule IV. The method of treating a subject should 
be full, so that nothing may be wanting; nothing 
which is necessary or proper should be omitted. 

Let your explanations, your enumeration of parts or prop¬ 
erties, your divisions, your illustrations, your narrative of 
circumstances, and your distributions of things, be so accu¬ 
rate that no needful idea or part be left out. 

This fullness of method does not require that every thing 
should be said which can be said upon any subject; but 
you should say every thing which is necessary to the design 
in view, and which has a proper and direct tendency to this 
end ; always proportioning the amount of your matter and 
the fullness of your discourse to your great design, to the 
length of your time, to the convenience, delight, and profit 
of your hearers. 

Rule V. As your method must be full without defi¬ 
ciency, so it must be brief, or without superfluity. 

The following are some of the redundancies that are to be 
avoided: 

(1.) All needless repetitions of the same thing in different 
parts of the discourse. 

(2.) A tedious prolixity in one part to the negle.pt or too 
rapid disposal of, perhaps, more important parts. 


DEFECTS OF DR. JOHNSON’S STYLE. 331 


(3.) The multiplying of explications where there is no 
difficulty, or darkness, or danger of mistake. 

(4.) The practice of proving those things which need no 
proof. 

(5.) The mention and refuting of objections that are so 
evidently false as to need no refutation, and such as no 
man in sober earnest would offer. 

Rule VI. Let your method be appropriate to the sub¬ 
ject in hand, to your present design , and to the capaci¬ 
ties and tastes of your hearers or readers. 

Rule VII. The parts of a discourse should be well con 
necled. For this purpose, 

(1.) Keep your main end and design ever in view, and 
let all the parts of your discourse have a perceptible ten¬ 
dency toward it. 

(2.) Let the mutual relation and dependency of the parts 
be such—so just and evident, that every part may naturally 
lead on to the next, without material interruptions inter¬ 
vening. 

(3.) Render yourself familiar with the best forms of 
transition from one part of a discourse to another, and prac¬ 
tice them as occasion offers. 


CHAPTER XII. 

DEFECTS OF DR. JOHNSON’S STYLE OF WRITING. 

[Supplementary to Part vi., Sec. v.] 

The works of the celebrated Dr. Samuel Johnson have exerted, 
and still exert so commanding an influence on the style of modem 
composition, that the author can not close his volume without 
subjoining a few lines, to caution those who study it against too 
close an imitation of Johnson’s peculiar style. They are taken 
from Macaulcy's Review of Boswell’s Life of Johnson. 


Johnson, as Mr. Burke most justly observed, ap¬ 
pears far greater in Boswell’s books than in his own. 
His conversation appears to have been quite equal to 
his writings in matter, and far superior to them in 
manner. When he talked, he clothed his wit and his 
sense in forcible and natural expressions. As soon 




332 DEFECTS OF DR. IOHNSON S STYLE. 

a 3 he took his pen in hand to write for the public, his 
style became systematically vicious. All his books 
are written in a learned language; in a language which 
nobody hears from his mother or his nurse; in a lan¬ 
guage in which nobody ever quarrels, or drives bar¬ 
gains, or makes love; in a language in which nobody 
ever thinks. 

It is clear that Johnson himself did not think in the 
dialect in which he wrote. The expressions which 
came first to his tongue were simple, energetic, and 
picturesque. When he wrote for publication, he did 
his sentences out of English into Johnsonese. His 
letters from the Hebrides to Mrs. Thrale are the ori¬ 
ginal of that work, of which the Journey to the Hebrides 
is the translation ; and it is amusing to compare the 
two versions. “When we were taken up stairs,” 
says he in one of his letters, “ a dirty fellow bounced 
out of the bed on which one of us was to lie.” This 
incident is recorded in the Journey as follows : “Out 
of one of the beds on which we were to repose, started 
up, at our entrance, a man black as a cyclops from 
the forge.” 

Sometimes Johnson translated aloud. “The Re¬ 
hearsal,” he said, very unjustly, “ has not wit enough 
to keep it sweet;” then, after a pause, “ it has not 
vitality enough to preserve it from putrefaction.” 

The characteristic faults of his style are so familiar, 
and have been so often burlesqued, that it is almost 
superfluous to point them out. 

It is well known that he made much less use than 
any other eminent writer of those strong, plain words, 
Anglo-Saxon or Norman French, of which the roots 
lie in the inmost depths of our language ; and that he 
felt a vicious partiality for terms which, long after 
our own speech had been fixed, were borrowed from 
the Greek and Latin, and which, therefore, even,' 
when lawfully naturalized, must be considered as born\ 
aliens, not entitled to rank with the king’s English. I 

His constant practice of padding out a sentence) 
with useless epithets, till it became as stiff as the bust ) 
of an exquisite; his antithetical forms of expression ,' 


DEFECT3 OF DR. JOHNSON^ STYLE. 333 


constantly employed even where there is no opposi¬ 
tion in the ideas expressed ; his big words wasted on 
little things ; his harsh inversions, so widely different 
from those graceful and easy inversions which give 
variety, spirit, and sweetness to the expression of our 
great old writers; all these peculiarities have been 
imitated by his admirers, and parodied by his assail¬ 
ants, till the public has become sick of the subject. 

Goldsmith said to him very wittily and very justly, 
“ If you were to write a fable about little fishes, doc¬ 
tor, you would make the little fishes talk like whales.” 
No man, surely, ever had so little talent for persona¬ 
tion as Johnson. Whether he wrote in the character 
of a disappointed legacy hunter or an empty town 
fop, of a crazy virtuoso or a flippant coquette, he 
wrote in the same pompous and unbending style. 


THE END. 


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Abroad, $1 00. 

KAY’S* TRAVELS AND RESEARCHES IN CAFFRARIA, 85 cent* 

KENDALL’S TEXAN SANTA FE EXPEDITION, $2 50. 

KEPPEL’S EXPEDITION TO BORNEO, 50 cents. 

KOHL’S SKETCHES IN IRELAND, 12Acents. 

LANDERS’ (R and J.) JOURNAL of TRAVEL in AFRICA, 90 cts. 

LATROBE’S RAMBLER IN MEXICO, 65 cents. 

■-RAMBLER IN NORTH AMERICA, $1 10. 

LESLIE, &c., DISCOVERIES and ADVENTURES in the POLAR 
Seas, 45 cents. 

LESTER’S GLORY AND SHAME OF ENGLAND, $1 50 

LEWIS AND CLARK’S TRAVELS BEYOND THE ROCKY 
Mountains, 90 cents. 

MACKENZIE’S YEAR IN SPAIN, $2 25 




PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS. ?3 

MACKENZIE’S SPAIN REVISITED, $1 75. 

-AMERICAN IN ENGLAND, $1 50 

MARRYAT’S TRAVELS OF MONSIEUR VIOLET IN CALIFOR 
nia, 12£ cents. 

MILLER’S CONDITION OF GREECE, 37A cents. 

MORGAN’S (Lady) FRANCE, 70 cents. 

MORRELL’S (Captain) FOUR VOYAGES TO THE SOUTH SEA. 
SI 50. 

MORRELL’S (Mrs. A. J.) VOYAGE TO THE SOUTH SEA, 62i ct* 
MOTT’S TRAVELS IN EUROPE AND THE EAST, $1 00 
NEW ORLEANS AS I FOUND IT, 25 cents. 

OLIN’S TRAVELS IN THE HOLY LAND, $2 50. 

OWEN’S VOYAGES TO EASTERN AFRICA, $1 12i. 

.PARK’S TRAVELS IN AFRICA, 45 cents. 

PARROT’S JOURNEY TO MOUNT ARARAT, 50 cents. 

PARRY’S VOYAGES TOWARD THE NORTH POLE, 90 cents. 
PERILS OF THE SEA, 35 cents. 

PHELPS’S (Mrs.) CAROLINE WESTERLEY, 35 cents. 

POLO’S (Marco) TRAVELS, 45 cents. 

PORTER’S CONSTANTINOPLE AND ITS ENVIRONS, $1 50. 
PUCKLER MUSKAU. TUTTI FRUTTI, 50 cents. 

•’YM’S (Arthur Gordon) NARRATIVE, 65 cents. 

REED AND MATHESON’S VISIT to the AMERICAN CHURCH 
es, $1 30. 

REYNOLDS’S VOYAGE OF THE U. S. FRIGATE POTOMAC 
Round the World, $3 25. 

-LETTERS ON THE EXPLORING EXPEDITION, 

$ 1 50. 

ROBERTS’S EMBASSY TO THE COURTS OF SIAM, COCHIN- 
China, &c., $1 75. 

SALE’S (Lady) JOURNAL OF DISASTERS IN AFGHANISTAN, 
12£ cents. 

SARGENT’S AMERICAN ADVENTURE BY LAND AND SEA, 
90 cents. 

SCHROEDER’S SHORES OF THE MEDITERRANEAN, $1 75. 
SEAWARD’S NARRATIVE OF HIS SHIPWRECK, 37£ cents. 
SEDGWICK’S (Miss) LETTERS FROM ABROAD TO KINDRED 
at Home, $1 90. 

SIEBOLD’S MANNERS AJMD CUSTOMS OF THE JAPANESE, 
45 cents. 

STEPHENS’S INCIDENTS of TRAVEL in CENTRAL AMERICA. 
Map and 88 Engravings, $5 00. 

-INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN YUCATAN. 120 En 

gravings, $5 00. 

-INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN GREECE, TURKEY, 

Russia, and Poland. Engravings, $1 75. 

-INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL IN EGYPT, ARABIA 

Petr.ea, and the Holy Land. Engravings, $1 75. 
JOHN’S LIVES OF CELEBRATED TRAVELERS, $1 25. 

* ASISTRO’S TRAVELS IN THE SOUTHERN STATES, $1 50. 
THINGS AS THEY ARE IN THE MIDDLE AND SOUTHERN 
States 75 cents. 

PROLLOPE’S PARIS AND THE PARISIANS IN 1835, $1 50. 
fYTLER’S DISCOVERIES ON THE NORTHERN COASTS OF 
America 45 cents. 

JNCLE PHILIP’S WHALE FISHERY AND POLAR SEAS, 70 c* 








14 VALUABLE NEW AND STANDARD WORKS 


VOYAGES ROUND THE WORLD SINCE THE DEATH OF CAP 
tain Cook, 45 cents. 

WOLFF’S MISSION TO BOKHARA. Engravings, $2 00. 
WRANGELL’S EXPEDITION TO SIBERIA, POLAR SEA, &c 
45 cents. 


Splendidly Embellished Works. 

AlKIN (Dr.) AND BARBAULD’S (Mrs.) EVENINGS AT HOME, 

$1 20 . 

BEATTIE (James) AND COLLINS’S (W.) POETICAL WORKS 
BIBLE, HARPER’S ILLUMINATED, $22 50 . 

BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER, $6 00. 

BUNYAN’S PILGRIM’S PROGRESS, 75 cents. 

BYRON’S CHILDE HAROLD, $5 00. 

COWPER’S (William) POEMS. 

DEFOE’S ROBINSON CRUSOE, $1 25. 

ENGLAND, PICTORIAL HISTORY OF. 

FAIRY BOOK, ILLUSTRATED, 75 cents. 

GOLDSMITH’S (Oliver) POETICAL WORKS 
HIEROGLYPHICAL BIBLE, 70 cents. 

LIFE OF CHRIST, in the Words of the Evangelists, $1 00 
MILTON’S POETICAL WORKS. 

SHAKSPEARE, HARPER’S ILLUMINATED, $5 00. 

SUE’S WANDERING JEW, ILLUSTRATED, $5 00 
THOMSON’S SEASONS. 


Medical and Surgical Science, ^c, 

BAYLE’S ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON ANATOMY, 87* cents 
CHAILLY’S PRACTICAL TREATISE ON MIDWIFERY, $2 00 
COOPER’S DICTIONARY OF PRACTICAL SURGERY, $3 87£. 
COPLAND’S DICTIONARY OF PRACTICAL MEDICINE, 3 vols., 
vols. 1 and 2 now ready, $5 00 per volume. 

CRUVEILHIEIPS ANATOMY OF THE HUMAN BODY, $3 00. 
DOANE’S SURGERY ILLUSTRATED. 25 Plates, $4 50. 
FERRIS’S TREATISE ON EPIDEMIC CHOLERA, $1 25. 

GALT’S TREATMENT OF INSANITY. 

GOOD’S STUDY OF MEDICINE, $5 00. 

GOVE’S (Mary S.) LECTURES TO WOMEN ON ANATOMY and 
Physiology, 75 cents. 

GUY’S PRINCIPLES OF MEDICAL JURISPRUDENCE, $3 00 
HOOPER’S MEDICAL DICTIONARY, $3 00 
JOHNSON’S ECONOMY OF HEALTH, 65 cents. 

KITCHINER’S DIRECTIONS FOR INVIGORATING AND Pro¬ 
longing Life, 40 cents. * 

MAGENDIE’S TREATISE ON HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY, $2 00. 
MASSE’S POCKET ANATOMICAL ATLAS, 442 Figures, engraved 
on Steel, and beautifully colored, $7 50 ; with Plates uncolored, $3 00 
NELIGAN ON MEDICINES, TIIEIR USES ETC , $1 75. 
PAINE’S INSTITUTES OR PHILOSOPHY OF MEDICINE 
PARIS’S PHARMACOLOGIA, $1 50. 

REESE’S TREATISE ON EPID&MIC CHOLERA, 75 cents 
























































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